Under the Water
by ThatOneTrizKid
Summary: Her name is Hawthorne. She's fifteen. She thinks. She can't remember. What she does know is she's a mutant. Logan leaves the mansion for a beer, he comes back with an amnesiac kid. Can they help her find her past? "Logan, what's up with you bringing strays home all the time?" After X1, before X2
1. Freaks and Creeps and All That Jazz

**Ahem. Disclaimer? I don't own anything that I don't own. Takes place after the first movie, before the second, so there's that.**

**Title taken from the song by The Pretty Reckless. Probably going to change. Who knows?**

* * *

It smells like crap. Crap and carrots and baby vomit—wait. No, that's from _Goldmember._ Ignore that.

It hits like a brick wall. I never got that phrase. Who's stupid enough to run into a wall? And the wall obviously isn't moving. Then again, with the world in total hell as it is, it just might. But that's not the point. I'm going off on a rabbit trail. Don't you hate when that happens?

Onward.

It hits like a brick wall. Bricks made of a smoky haze dotted with the glowing red ends of cigars and cigarettes, cemented down with cheap liquors that burn your throat as it goes down, all on a foundation of melancholia and self-loathing and all that jazz. It's really a great place. I don't see why there aren't more people. Don't college kids like these kinds of places?

Oh, wait, that's right. It's in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I stand by the door for a second. For being in the middle of nowhere, there are quite a few people in here. They all look slow though; beer bellies galore in here. Bartender should have some sort of weapon. Hopefully not a gun. Best to take him out first, then anyone else with small weapons.

It's good to have escape plans.

Before anyone notices me, I make myself relax. Kill my posture, shoulders slouch. I leave my hood up though. Keep my head down. Don't draw attention, that's rule _numero uno_. Someone obviously didn't tell these tards.

The locals stare as I move. Pretty soon, all the talk dies down to whispers. Even the music seems to shut up. Their lips twist in disgust at my outsider stench, because—being the lumberjack hillbillies that they are—I'm sure they can smell it on me. They watch with icy glares. This is their clubhouse. No kids allowed. Especially punks with dirty blue combat boots.

Well then. They're just going to have to learn how to share.

I find an empty stool at the counter, away from everyone else. I can feel them watching as I take off my bag and drop it in my lap. Creeps. If a fight breaks out, I'm gouging out a couple eyes. Keep them as souvenirs.

The Bartender finally notices me. He's a big guy, just like the rest of the Neanderthals in here. His eyes are hard, biased, and bloodshot. Drinking on the job? Drinking is his job. His face is a ruddy red. He carries a dirty washrag, wipes his hands in it. That can't be sanitary.

"Ain't you a little young to be here, girly?" he sneers. I look up at him. Gawd, he's ugly. Balding too. Guy should just shave it all off. It'd look better. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully, for the sake of the people that have to look at him. Like me.

"I'm not here to drink," I say flatly. Barkeep glares down at me. I meet his eyes. Dirty blue eyes. My boots look better.

"Then what'd'ya want?" he demands. I open my bag and pull out my wallet. Open that and pull out a ten and two ones.

"All I have is twelve bucks," I lie. I actually have closer to four hundred. Not telling him though. "What food can that buy me?" I ask, pulling my hood off, revealing my blue beanie. The man holds his glare. I clench my jaw. Come on. Take the money.

The man rolls his head to the side. His neck pops. "Can get you a burger and some fries."

"What about a water?"

"It'll be hot."

"Fine."

We keep up our staring contest. The man's lip pulls up in a snarl before he turns and starts for a door behind the counter. The kitchen hopefully. I let out a small sigh of relief and stick my money back in my wallet. Won't be pulling that out until after I get food in my stomach. My stomach twists at the mention of food. Man, when was the last time I ate something hot?

Chsh, can't even remember my whole name, how am I supposed to remember what I ate?

Slowly, the life starts to trickle back into the other patrons. I can still feel them watching me, but not as many eyes this time. It's getting louder though.

Wait. Is it just me, or is there about twice as many people in here now? I glance around. Shit. Definitely more people in here. There's a door in the back. They're coming out of there; drunk and staggering like a poor parody of a zombie attack. I need to reevaluate my escape plan.

They're all drunk. That can come in handy. Drunks are sloppy. But then again, some of these lumberjacks look like pissed as all fucking hell. A couple look like they had their faces smashed in with a waffle iron. Why a waffle iron? Not sure. I guess because I like waffles. Just don't ask how I know I like them. I don't remember.

I catch a couple of their mutterings. Something about losing money. Guy must have cheated. Fight was rigged.

Oh? Oh. _Oh. _Balls.

Fighters. These guys are fighters. Crap. Crap. Crapitty crap crap! They're still drunk. I better get a knife with my burger. Or a fork. Hell, even a spoon will work.

They spread out into the bar. One angry as all hell group goes to an empty table, where they glare at a stocky guy. Hairy guy. Spiky hair, like he has bunny ears. I can't help but smile a bit at that. The guy sits at the counter about three seats away from me. He doesn't seem to notice me. Good. Let's keep it that way.

The bartender comes back. He sets a glass of water in front of me. "Food'll be a little longer."

I just nod, not taking my eyes off the water. The cup is clear, or at least I think it used to be clear. It's all muggy now, and it has a chip in the rim. I pick it up and look in it at the water. It's foggy. I crinkle my nose at it and push it away. Gross ass Neanderthals.

I glance around again. People keep shuffling out of the back room, filling the room. Guy sitting kinda by me has a beer now. Has his eyes glued on his bottle like it would disappear if he looked away. I crinkle my nose at him, trying to figure out his story. He stinks of melancholy. It's the dangerous kind, the kind the victim doesn't know about until after he finds himself falling toward the water's hard surface after throwing himself off of a bridge. Yeah.

I look back down at my gross cup. Maybe he's a secret agent. The guy drinking by himself. Maybe he's some sort of James Bond 007 shit, staking out these creeps for some sort of super villain. He just doesn't belong. He has a sort of air about him. The guy takes a swig of his beer, freezing for a split second, the bottle tipped up, his lips around the top, his Adams apple stuck in the middle of his neck mid drink. His eyes slowly make their way to mine. We stare at each other as he sets down his drink.

He has old eyes. Eyes that have seen shit that no one should see. Eyes that have seen friends and family die, eyes that have burned with rage and hatred, eyes that have seen the very heart of hell and clawed their way out again.

Well, maybe not that last one, but you get the point.

I don't drop my gaze. This is one staring contest I intend on winning. I can tell he's doing the same thing I did. He's trying to figure out my story. They aren't threatening, just alert.

The barkeep comes back to where I sit. He drops something in front of me. A fork and knife wrapped in a napkin. I arch an eyebrow at him.

"Usually this comes with food," I deadpan. He narrows his eyes at me.

"It's coming." He looks over my head. Something flashes in his eyes and I swear the dude smirks. He steps back and goes back to the other patrons. Somewhere behind me, a chair makes a gross screeching sound as it scrapes against the blood and alcohol stained floor.

The air feels heavy. Feels muggy and sticks to my skin, sticks to my lungs when I breathe in.

Oh, balls. There's someone behind me, isn't there?

"That's my seat." I slowly turn around, one hand gripping my bag, the other sliding its way to the fork and knife. Big guy stands there, smashed up face. Must have been in the fights. Must have lost. I take a breath and immediately regret it. Guy smells like B.O. and stale alcohol. Makes my nose sting.

"Do you realize how elementary you sound right now?" I ask flatly. The guy clenches his bruised jaw.

"Little girl, you aren't from around here, are you?"

"Why no, no I am not," I say brightly before deadpanning, "whatever gave it away?" I stare the guy in the eye. "Now shove off. I'm a paying customer."

Something flashes in secret agent's eyes and I realize I said the wrong thing. "Paying customer?" Bruised Jaw barks in laughter. I narrow my eyes at him as he moves in closer. "I don't see your drink, princess. What're you paying for?"

"Sir, I recommend you step back." I keep my voice calm and even. Deadly. I wish I could remember whom I learned it from. Then I could thank him. The man looks about ready to crap himself. Then he grows a pair, remembering that he's supposed to be scaring a fifteen-year-old kid. He looks ready to reach out when a hand falls on his shoulder.

"Leave the kid alone," a gruff voice growls. I look past the tard to see the secret agent. His eyes are hard. He means business.

"Mind your own business," Bruised Jaw snarls, pushing the secret agent away. He reaches out, catches a fistful of my jacket, and pulls me out of the seat. My bag falls to the floor with a clatter.

I should probably think before I act. But the time you spend thinking is just enough time to get you killed.

Therefore, I do not think. I act. And because I act, I'm still alive.

I drive the fork into the man's shoulder. It's thick, full of muscle. He still cusses when I twist it though. The hold on my jacket is gone. I drop a bit, kicking out. My foot connects to the side of the man's knee and the room is filled with a sickening crack followed by a scream. I jump up as the man fall, catching his head and slamming it into my knee. He falls into an unmoving heap. He isn't dead though. Least I don't think he's dead. Didn't slam his face with enough force.

The secret agent seems to be fighting his own battle. Must have been Bruised Jaw's buddies. Or maybe just some people looking for an excuse to do some damage. Who knows?

A hand closes around my arm and I'm whirled around. I find myself face to face with what has to be the ugliest person I have ever seen. He sneers, and a sickening mixture of tobacco and alcohol rolls off of him like a midnight fog.

I left the fork in Bruised Jaw's shoulder, and the knife is still on the counter. Behind me. Crap.

I do not think. I act. Because I act, I might just get myself killed.

I swing at the man. As I do so, I feel the air hardening in my hand. I grip the new club tighter and feel my hand shake when it connects to the man's head. As I did so, I felt another hand on my shoulder. I whirl around, and the blunt edge of the club sharpens. I point it under the man's chin, the man that thought it would be a good idea to touch me.

He freezes and the bar goes silent. Every one stares at the translucent green bladed club in my hand, something I didn't have ten seconds ago. The man in front of me has a knife in his hands. Really? I look around. Everyone is still. Silent. Eyes wide in fear. I meet the eyes of the secret agent. He has three knives to another guy's throat. Wait a second…

Ho. Ly. Shit. Those knives are coming out of his knuckles.

The secret agent looks past me, and his eyes flash with rage. Before I can turn around to see why, I feel something pressed into the small of my back. Something small. Despite my jacket, I can feel that it's cold. I tense.

_Chk-Chk_

Damn.

I close my eyes, inwardly scolding myself for not remembering the bartender. I was supposed to take him out first. I slowly turn around and see him glaring at me with hate filled eyes down the barrel of a shotgun.

"Drop it, girly," he growls, gesturing to my club. I pull it away from the man's throat and bring it to the bartender's view. Once he can see it, I let it go. It falls about a foot before it dissolves, little green specs floating and disappearing into the air. Once it's gone, I take a step back. Claws steps up, puts himself in front of me. The gun swings around to him.

"Now. I don't want any freaks in my bar," the bartender growls. I clench my jaw.

"Guess that means I don't get my burger?"

The bartender's face twists in disgust and he points the gun past Claws's head at me. Crap.

He does not think. He acts. Because he acts, I'm still alive.

There's a shiny flash and the gun falls into three pieces. Claws stands a lot closer to the barkeep. His shoulders are tense. He looks like he wants to stick his claws in the guy's gut. I wouldn't have stopped him.

"You better think twice before you go pointin' that thing at a kid," he growls, low and mean, like a pissed off dog. Every one is silent, paralyzed with fear. Nobody makes a move as he stoops down and grabs my bag off the floor. Pushes it into my gut as he stalks by.

"Come on, kid."

I do not think. I act. Because I act, I am alive.

I follow him out the door and into the cold night.


	2. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Hello, and welcome to another segment of-okay, I can't do this. **

**Here's another chapter. Leave a review. Those make me happy. Oh, and cool beans on the guys that favorited and followed. **

* * *

Logan glances over at the kid. She's been quiet ever since they left that damn bar, and that was almost an hour ago. She didn't ask where they were going, didn't ask for his name, didn't even offer her own. He would have blamed it on fear, but she was calm the whole time too. Even back at the bar, when the gun was on her. She cracked a joke. No fear scent.

Kid was used to this kind stuff. Logan wasn't going to lie. It pisses him off when a kid has seen so much crap they don't know how to be afraid anymore.

The girl looks out the window, her dark eyes on the moon. Wild eyes. He's seen eyes like hers before. Have your back if they like you, but if they don't? Lord have mercy on your soul.

The silence feels awkward. Logan keeps his eyes on the road. All he wanted was a night away from the brats at the school, throw a couple punches and get some spending cash, but no. What's up with him finding kids at crap bars? At least now he knows where to take this one. Hopefully Chuck won't mind.

The girl takes a breath. Logan glanced down at her as she speaks.

"Um, thanks, I guess," she says in a rather monotone voice. Didn't sound very thankful.

"Welcome." It comes out harsher than he means it to. The girl nods and looks down at the bag in her hands.

"So, you're a mutant too?" she asks as if asking what he had for lunch. He nods once. He can feel her sharp eyes on him, burning into him. Studying him. He clears his throat.

"What'd'ya call yourself, kid?" he asks gruffly. The girl looks down, her dark hair falling over her face, hiding her expression.

"Hawthorne," she says quietly.

"Hawthorne?" Logan tries it out. It tastes funny. "That your last name?"

The girl, Hawthorne, clenches her hands into fists. "Dunno."

"'Dunno'?" Logan looks down at the girl. She keeps her face hidden. "Well, how old are ya?"

"Fifteen." She pauses. "I think."

Oh, damn. Damn it to hell. Kid's a fucking amnesiac. How is she not freaking out? Why does he always get stuck with these problems? Chuck better be able to fix this.

The girl speaks again. "Um, if you don't mind me asking," she starts, sounding like she'd go on with the question even if he did mind, "where are we going?"

Ah, there it is. Logan was starting to worry. What kind of kid just gets into a truck with a complete stranger without knowing where he's going? Well, there was Rogue, but…

"A school, uh, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." He glances down to see the girl's arched eyebrow, her eyes sharp. "It's a place for people like us. Mutants. A sanctuary. They'll help you out," he says.

"How far is it?"

"'Bout another two hours," Logan answers. The girl is quiet for a second.

"Help me?"

Her voice sounded strange. The feral looks down at her. She's looking at him funny. He nods once. "Yeah. There's a telepath there. If anyone can find your memories, it's him."

If she doesn't have a malfunctioning brain like his own. Hawthorne stays quiet. She has a concentrated look on her face, as if she's thinking about what he had just said. Before she can say anything about it, a soft grumbling noise fill the cab of the truck. Hawthorne's eyes go wide in shock before her face turns a rather bright shade of red, considering how pale she's looking. Logan will have to make sure Jean and Hank get a look at her. The girl's hands cover her stomach and she looks down in embarrassment.

Logan can't help it. He smirks. Hawthorne doesn't see it. She's too busy staring down at her lap. Logan sighs. Keeping his eyes on the road, he lifts up the center armrest and pulls out a granola bar. Rogue had made him take a couple for the drive. He didn't even like granola bars, but the kid had pulled some puppy dog eyes and he couldn't say no.

Those damn brats are making him soft.

Logan can feel Hawthorne tense next to him. He glances down at her as he holds out the bar to her. She looks up at him confused. "Here, kid." He waves it at her. She hesitates, but after a second takes it.

"Thanks," she mumbles, taking her time to open it. He half expects her to scarf the thing down, but instead she just breaks off a small piece, studies it for a second, smells it. He doesn't know if she's checking to see if he laced it with something—smart kid if that's what's up—or if she's just never seen one before. Once she's happy with what she sees, the kid nibbles at a corner, then pops the piece in her mouth.

"So, what were you doin' in that damn place anyway?" Logan asks. The girl shrugs.

"Wanted food." She rips another piece of the bar apart and eats it. She looks up at Logan as she chews. "What's your name?" she asks bluntly.

"Logan."

"Logan." Hawthorne tries it out. Then smirks. "That your last name?" The feral looks down at the girl.

"Smart ass," he mutters, shaking his head. The kid yawns once, wrapping up what's left of the bar and setting it on her lap.

"So in about two hours, we're getting to that school place?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Cool." The girl glances up at him, and something flashes in those wild eyes of hers. "You know, if you lied, I will kill you," she says simply. Logan isn't surprised by those words, and he has a feeling that—even with his healing factor—the kid probably put a good hurting on him. He looks over at her, sees her looking out the window, and shakes his head.

Oh, yeah. He could tell this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Charles Xavier closes his eyes for a second, and a faint smile crosses his features. There's a knock at his door. "Come in."

He opens his eyes as the door opens, revealing three adults. Two women, one with long, fiery red hair, and the other with shockingly white hair, cut short. The other is a man wearing red sunglasses despite being inside.

"You wanted to see us, Professor?" Jean Grey asks. Xavier smiles up at them.

"Yes, Jean, come in," he says, and the trio walks in. "It would seem that we will be having a new addition to our school," he says knowingly. The X-Men exchange looks.

"Should we use the Blackbird?" Scott Summers asks; his voice almost excited. Jean looks over at him, a faint smile on her lips. That man loves that thing too much. Xavier chuckles.

"No, Scott, there is no need." Scott looks a bit put out with that.

"Are the parents bringing the child?" Ororo Munroe asks; her voice lightly accented. Xavier shakes his head.

"No. Logan's bringing her home." His eyes light up. "Ah. That would be them."

* * *

I don't know what I was expecting.

I follow Claws down a hall, and every now and then I can feel his eyes on me. Checking my reaction. I try to keep my face blank, but it must not work. The guy keeps smirking at me. Jerk.

"So, uh, how do you know these people?" I ask, glancing into a room we pass. Expensive.

"I teach here." I stop short to stare at the man in front of me. There is no way this brute teaches here. James Bond doesn't _teach_. He must notice that I've stopped, but doesn't stop. "Don't fall behind, kid."

I crinkle my nose, but hurry after him, my boots' stomping echoing throughout the hall. "You _teach_? What do you teach?" I demand, only to smirk. "Wait, let me guess. English."

Claws shoots me a Shut-Up look. "Smart ass," he mutters, shaking his head. "And no, not English," he snaps gruffly. "Defense."

"Defense? What do you do? Run at the poor kids with those knives of yours?" I crack a grin at the glare he shoots me. "Sorry, Claws," I say, not sorry at all, "but you don't exactly look teacher material."

Claws takes a breath, no doubt trying to stay calm. "Damn brat," he grumbles. "Shoulda made ya walk."

"But you didn't. See, you're a decent human, after all," I say in mock brightness. Then frown at how we turn to a plain hall, no more expensive shit on the walls. "Where're we going now?" I demand.

"Infirmary," Claws says simply. "You look like shit, kid."

I stop short. "Infirm… like, with a doctor?" I look down the hall, narrow my eyes at it. Maybe I can make a run for it, knock him out with a club or something. He must sense my discomfort, because he stops and looks back at me.

"What?" he demands.

"I don't like doctors," is my automatic response.

"Why not?"

"Can't remember," I admit bluntly. "And you tard, I do not look like shit," I snap, knowing the words are a lie. At least, I feel like shit. Head's pounding. I wonder if this is how Zeus felt when Athena was born. I feel for the guy. Even though he's a myth and doesn't actually exist.

Claws smirks. "Tell that to a mirror." His eyes harden a bit, probably sees how I tense. "And don't even think about runnin'."

"Quick, what color am I thinking of?" I deadpan. "Is it really necessary? I mean, I feel fine…" I trail off at the look he gives me. "No?" The mutant in front of me sighs.

"Relax, Boots, the docs here ain't gonna kill you," he assures as I start to follow him again. I give him an annoyed look.

"Was that a _Dora_ reference?" I demand. "Because I am not a monkey."

He looks down at me like I'm crazy. "The hell is a _Dora_?"

"You know, little Mexican girl with a talking monkey best friend and the purple back pa…" I trail off. He stares at me, no doubt wondering how he got stuck with me. "No?"

"How do you even—?"

"Shut up. They had it playing in a Wal-Mart I spent a couple of nights at." I pause, ignoring the sympathetic look. "Had some catchy tunes, though," I say with a small smile, the Map song playing through my head. "And I have a name. Kinda. Hawthorne."

"I have a name too. Logan."

"But I like Claws better," I tell him.

"And I like Boots." I glare at him as we stop in front of a white door. He knocks once before pushing it open, grabbing a fistful of my jacket's hood when I make a last minute attempt of freedom. "Don't even think about it," he growls, pulling me in after him.

"But do I have to?" I look up at him, pull some puppy dog eyes I have no idea where I learned. "Can't we just, I dunno, not, and say we did?" He rolls his eyes and plants me next to him, not letting go of my jacket as we face four new people. I stare at them for a second. "Oh. Hello." I clear my throat as I yank my hood out of Claws's hand, glaring at him as I do so. I glance around, barely suppressing a shudder. "This your science room? It's very… science-y."

And it is. Looks like a lab. I don't like labs. I wish I could remember why though. I look at the four new people. Two women, a white ginger chick and a black chick with white hair. Ha. I'm gonna call her Oreo. Is that racist? I hope it's not racist. Two men, one a tall dude, dark hair. Why the hell is he wearing sunglasses? Inside. At night. Like that one song. The last is some bald dude in a wheelchair.

Best bet would be to take out Shades first. Oreo looks tougher, so she's next, then the ginger. But then we still have Claws—

"I assure you, there is no need for violence," Baldy says in a soothing voice. Eat your heart out, Morgan Freeman. Wait. Crap.

"What color am I thinking of?" I ask.

"You're not thinking of a color. You're thinking of Batman," the man says, a warm smile playing at him lips. I look up at Claws.

"He's good." Claws just smirks.

"Hawthorne, I presume," he guesses. I nod once.

"Yeah, that's me." Claws nudges my arm, shooting me a glare at the tone I use. Baldy doesn't seem to mind though. He just keeps on smiling.

"I am Professor Charles Xavier," he says. "These are the other teachers here. Dr. Jean Grey," the ginger steps up. "Ororo Munroe," ha! He name even sounds like Oreo! "And Scott Summers." I look at them; study them. Jean smiles warmly at me. What's up with that?

I don't try to figure out what though. Ice pick totally took out about half of my brain. Not really, but it sure feels like it. I bring a hand up and rub my temple, crinkling my nose. Head ache needs to piss off.

"You alright, Boots?" There's a frown in his voice.

"Peachy, Claws," I mutter. "Just peachy." I open my eyes to see the concerned look coming from the four newbies. Oh. Hey. Dizzy. Dizzy needs to not be here.

"Logan," Ginger starts, her voice somewhat alarmed. She takes a step forward. I blink once before my legs turn into gel-o. I hate gel-o. Last thing I see is Claws jumping forward to catch me as I start to face-plant.

So much for first impressions.

* * *

**Any and all mistakes are mine. Because I'm selfish like that. Apologies.**


	3. Friends Don't Make Secrets

**Back! Dudes, you guys are awesome. Favoriting and following and reviewing. I love you guys. Kinda. Not in that creeper stalker way. In the way that a writer lover her readers... Anywho, chick flick moment aside, you guys rock. Keep that up. Forrealz.**

* * *

Jean Grey looks down at the unconscious girl on the bed, makes sure the IV is in properly, the heart monitor works accordingly. The girl had already been like this for almost four hours. The doctor takes a shaky breath, trying to keep herself composed, but her vision still blurs with tears.

Hawthorne, that's what she called herself, what Logan said she called herself. Dark circles hang under her eyes like bruises, as if she hadn't had a proper sleep in weeks. The girl is suffering from severe exhaustion and malnutrition. Her face is hollow, and a small scar, a thin line, runs across her left cheek. When Jean had changed the girl out of her old clothes and into a PJ pant and black shirt, she could see how her collar bones stuck out. Jean had seen her fair share of kids coming from abusive families because of their mutations, but this… This is monstrous.

Scars litter Hawthorne's torso. Some are precise, small and controlled. Some are from burns. There are about four bullet marks, one of them just to the right of her heart. Of those four, only two made it out the other side. There are at least two over each of her sides that match the marks of a bone breaking through the skin. The scars vary in age, the oldest being years old, the most recent just a few months. The one that stands out the most is a long, jagged line that goes down her side. As if someone had stuck a serrated knife in her side and just pulled down, twisting once it reached just above her hip. It's still a little pink.

One arm has four white lines right above her elbow, as if an animal had taken a swipe at her, and the skin on both wrists are darker, as if she had been tied, or handcuffed, and tried to get away. Her left thumb is just slightly crooked, barely noticeable, suggesting a break or dislocation, and that she had succeeded in that escape. The skin of her knuckles is rougher, calloused almost, like she had been in too many fights.

Jean steps away, quickly wiping away a run away tear after seeing the white line that went from the girl's elbow down to her wrist. Logan had said that this girl doesn't remember a lot, and she prays, oh how she prays, that however she got these scars is gone too.

But the scars aren't all that mark the girl's body. On the back of her neck is a tattoo in bold, black ink.

**IV**

There's a knock on the door. Jean looks up as Ororo and Logan walk in. Both wear concerned expressions; the Canadian's less visible. It's there though, in his eyes. He speaks first.

"How's the kid?" he asks gruffly, glancing down at her. Something flashes in his eyes, and Jean knows he's seen the little scars on her arms. The telepath takes a breath before answering.

"Exhaustion and malnutrition. She should be fine though, she's just sleeping now." Ororo narrows her eyes, catching on that something was left out.

"Jean?" she presses softly. "What else is wrong?" Jean shakes her head, her eyes threatening to spill tears. Logan frowns at that, and Ororo just steps up and puts a hand on her friend's arm. "Show me then," she says. Jean nods once. Almost immediately, the one called Storm gasps, and draws back from the telepath.

"What?" Logan demands. Jean sighs, and repeats the action. Logan is silent for a second. Then his eyes go dark, he jaw clenches, and he looks like he wants to kill someone. "Who would do that to a kid?" he growls, low and mean. Jean just shakes her head.

"I don't know."

* * *

"Was all that really necessary?"

Ginger offers a small smile as she sets down her stethoscope on a small table next to the bed I'm stuck sitting one. "Very necessary," she says. "I need to know if there's anything wrong with you."

I scoff. "Lady, there's plenty wrong with me."

She freezes a bit at that, only to brush it off with another smile. I wasn't supposed to catch it, but I did. I decide to ignore it and glance around the room. My hair is still damp from the shower I demanded to have before subjecting to that stupid check up. I'm not going to lie; it was probably the most beautiful shower I have ever taken. Getting that gross smoky bar feel off is the best feeling in the world.

"Soo," I start nonchalantly. "You a Creep too?" Ginger looks up at me in a sort of shock. "Um, mutant," I add. Creeps. Who had called mutants Creeps? Must have been someone I was around a lot, if I picked it up like that.

"Oh. Yes, I'm a mutant too," she says, her eyes on my, checking for a reaction. I just nod.

"That's cool." Man, this room is bugging me out. "What's your super power?"

She smiles and looks across the room and I follow her gaze to a small table. I frown and start to say something clever—because I'm a clever girl—when the damn thing starts hovering. Like, holy hell, there's a poltergeist, someone get the fucking salt and call the Winchesters.

"Ah. Right then. That's…" I gasp. "Can you make yourself fly?"

Ginger laughs at that and sets down the table. "If you call it flying."

"That's cool." I grin. "Cooler than Claws. And his poison is cool." I pause. "So, am I done with this nonchalansense?" I demand, kicking out my feet, barely missing Ginger. She shoots me a look and I decide it's best for my health that I stop. Before she can answer me, a new voice cuts in.

"Actually, I was hoping to ask you some question, Hawthorne." Glancing over at the door, I see the bald dude rolling in. Something X. I give a small smirk.

"Sure, you can ask, but there's no promises I'll have all the answers." I tap my temple with an index finger. "Dunno if Claws told you, but this thing is kinda broken."

X just offers a warm smile as the chair moves forward. "Yes, Logan has told me of your predicament, but I think I may be able to help you, even if it is just a little."

I kinda just stare at him for a second. What's with these dudes and help help help? It's unnatural. Unnerving. But in the end I just shrug. "You can try, man."

X nods once. "Very well then. Hawthorne, Jean has told me about your…" he hesitates. "Scars. Do you remember how you got them?"

"Scars? Oh, right, those," I laugh at myself. "I have no idea. Woke up a while back and this one," I lift up my shirt a bit and point to the newest one on my side, "was still hurting like a bi—"

"Language, Boots!" I look up and see Claws stalk in, his eyes stern until they fall on my side. "Damn." He says it softly. Ginger looks away. I pull down my shirt and shrug.

"Haven't been into many fights since I woke, and the ones that I am in, the other tards barely even touch me," I tell them. "Who knows where these come from." I grin. "Maybe I'm a ninja."

X gives an amused smile at that. "And when was it that you woke?"

"Eh. 'Bout two months ago?" I crinkle my nose. "Woke outside some small Kansas town. All I had was my bag, a change of clothes, and a hell of a lotta money. No clue where it came from. Not that I'm complaining about having it." I frown. "Dude, where's my bag?" I demand, glaring at Claws. He just nods across the room. Oh. There it is. On the floor. By my boots. Cool. I nod once and go on. "Anywho, been hitching rides and walking around ever since."

"You didn't try to find out who you were?" Jean asks. I shake my head.

"Something told me that would've been a bad idea," I say quietly. Then louder, "'Sides, not like anyone would have been able to do anything." Ginger opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. "Say I go to some cops. Then what? They put me in some sort of home; make me a ward of the state. And what about when people find out about my power? You know how screwed I'd be? The place I first woke at made it very clear they don't like Creeps."

Ginger doesn't say anything at that and Claws looks mildly annoyed. X just nods. "I see." Then his eyes light up like he's about to change the subject to something lighter. "Hawthorne, I don't think I've had a chance to see your power. Logan told me, but if you don't mind, I'd love to see it in person."

I grin. "All you had to do was ask," I tell him, brining up a hand a bit, palm up. It doesn't take much concentration before the particles in the air harden, and a small translucent green marble forms in my hand. It grows in size, and pretty soon it's almost too big for my hand. "I can make pretty much anything I want," I say simply, looking down at my creation before bringing up my other hand and trapping the ball between hands. When I show it off again, it's a small statue of a turtle. I smile at it for a second before brushing my hands. The turtle is reduced to small glittery specs as they dissolve. "Specialty's weapons though," I say simply.

A bat forms in my hand. I look at it for a second before it transforms. Thinner, just slightly curved. Bladed. I look up at them as I let it flow apart.

"Come on zombie apocalypse," I deadpan.

"Fascinating," X says quietly, his eyes bright. I shrug.

"It's alright. Keeps me alive," I mutter. I look at him. "So, you gonna look in this messed up head and try to figure out why I'm all janked?" I pause. "Or did you already try?"

X shook his head. "I wouldn't do so without your permission, Hawthorne."

"Oh. Right then." I crinkle my nose. "Um, go ahead then, if you wanna try."

X smiles, then brings his hand up to his temple. After a second, my head gets fuzzy. I blink, trying to shake off the feeling when a soft sort of calm comes over me. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

A pain, sharp and hot. "Shit!" I snap, my hand going to my head. The pain almost immediately disappears, but still. That fucking hurt!

X opens his eyes, dropping his hand. "My apologies, Hawthorne," he says after taking a shaky breath. Ginger goes up to him.

"Professor?"

"Not to worry, Jean," he says reassuringly. His voice still sounds strained a bit. I frown, Claws doing the same. He must have heard it too. "It seems to me that there's a block on your mind, Hawthorne," he explains.

"Block? What kinda block?" I demand. "Like, I put it up?"

"No, not you," he says. "Someone else." He looks up at me. "It will take some time to break down. Perhaps you should get some food and we will try again at a later time."

He's hiding something. I can see it in his eyes. Can see how he thinks it's for my best interest. He offers a small smile.

"Fine," I mutter, jumping off the bed.

"Logan, would you take her please?" The unspoken I'll-Fill-You-In-Later hangs in his words. Claws nods once.

"Sure, Chuck." He looks down at me. "Come on, Boots. Time you meet the rest of the brats here."

I smirk as I follow him out the door. "I'm sure I'll fit right in."

* * *

Professor Xavier takes another breath and rubs his face with his hand. Jean looks down at him, her eyes filled with worry.

"What is it, Professor?" she asks. "What's wrong?"

"It's the block, Jean," he tells her. "It worries me. Someone put it there on purpose." Jean frowns.

"Why would anyone do that?" she demands, anger lacing her voice. Not anger towards the Professor, but the thought that someone would do that. "Who would do that?" Xavier could only shake his head.

"Whoever it was, he made it very clear that he didn't want Hawthorne to remember her past. This wall on her mind is very strong, and dangerous." He looks up at Jean. "If we try to tear it down with force, or all at once, it could kill her, destroy her mind. Whoever did it knew what he was doing."

Jean frowns. "Then what can we do? How can we help her?"

"Our best bet is to take it slow," Xavier advises. "Once we have her in classes, we can set up sessions with her and try to work around the wall. Hypnotism, maybe." He shakes his head and looks at the girl's bag and boots. His mind wanders to the scar she had shown off.

"Do you think that'll work?"

"I'm not sure," Xavier answers honestly. "The real question is, Jean, whether we'd be doing her a favor or more damage by giving back her memories."

* * *

**OOOooo. The plot thickens. So, A/N, I guess. I want you all to know I'm kind of a slow writer, but school is almost over (Only four more days!) and I'm hoping to be able to finish this story before it starts up again. Who knows. My goal is to get a chapter out to you guys at least once every two weeks. We'll see.**

**Stay shway, bro-chachos. **


	4. Dinner Time At Mutant High

**Oh, hi. How's it going? Guess what? I got a new chapter out! Woohoo for me! Also for you, because you get to read more of this fine little adventure. Not really. It isn't that great. **

**ANYWHO. Dudes. You guys are awesome. I'm pretty sure I've said that with each update, but holy balls, you guys are awesome. Reviewing and following and favoriting. Makes me all happy inside. Well, have yourselves a new chapter. **

* * *

"You're in luck, Boots," Claws says with a smirk. "Dinner just started."

I frown as I follow him. "How long was I gone?" He shrugs.

"Not sure. More 'an twelve hours, at least." I crinkle my nose at that. Shit. Twelve hours out? Imagine if I had been out that long on the road. I'd be so royally fucked they'd crown me as a queen.

"Someone should have woken me," I mutter. "Can't get outta practice just because I found a place to crash for a while."

Claws doesn't say anything to that. We walk down a hall and a low roar of laughter and chitchat gets louder. I narrow my eyes at the door we stop in front of.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," I mutter as Claws opens the door and makes a sweeping motion with his hand, gesturing for me to enter.

"They're just kids," he says. "Just like you, nothin' to worry about."

I scoff. "Lord have mercy on this earth if that's the case." I look up at him. "I'm not exactly a shining example of goodness, you know." He just does that grunt thing of his and walks in, not even looking back to see if I'm following. Jerk.

A cafeteria. Full of kids and awesome smelling food. Oreo and Shades are eating at a table in the front of the room, where they can keep an eye on everyone. Maybe not a cafeteria. It's too nice for that. A freaking huge dining room. That works.

"What am I doing?" I ask quietly, trying to keep the strain out of my voice. Too many people. No possible way I can get out if anything happens. All these people have powers. Maybe if they were normal, but they aren't. I clench my hands into fists and take a breath.

"Logan!"

It takes every once of will power to not throw a wall or bat or something that would hurt at the girl rushing up to Claws, and in turn, to me. She's smiling, like she's actually happy to see the feral. Who would like him? But that isn't the real shocker; no, the real shocker is how he's smiling back. I think that's a smile. Who knows. I step back to watch.

It looks like she wants to hug him, but instead just stops right in front of him. He looks like he wants to hug her, even reaches out to put his hand on her head, but pulls back last minute. She doesn't look too torn about it. She can't be much older than me. And what's with those janky white strips in her hair?

"Hey, kid," Claws says, something weird in his voice. Affection? That must be nice.

"I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow." OHMYGAWD. Her voice! She's a Dixie Chick! I hold back a snicker and look around the room. People are staring now. Great. Like to see them stare with bloody gaping holes where their eyes should be. I turn my attention back to Claws and the girl. For being a teenaged girl, she isn't showing much skin. Well, neither do I, but then again, scars tend to make people uneasy.

Actually, this dame is barely showing anything. Like, at all. Pants. Long sleeve shirt. Gloves. I'm surprised she isn't wearing one of those veil thingies that chicks from the Middle East have to wear. It's like she can't touch anyone.

Oh. _Oh._ OH.

So that's her poison. Her touch. Huh. Well then. Looks like she isn't getting laid anytime soon. And judging by how Claws looks at her, that strange, fatherly affection in his eyes, that just might be what saves her boyfriend's life. If she has one. I bet she does, just so some Higher Being can laugh at her.

"Yeah, well, things came up," Claws says, bringing me out of my thoughts. I glare at him as he looks at me pointedly. His eyes suddenly narrow, and I realize that he must notice my not so nice thoughts about how I'd like to "play" with the rest of the kids here.

"Did you just call me a thing?" I demand. The girl looks at me, seeing me for the first time. Claws mutters something I don't quite catch, but I heard something that sounded an awful lot like brat. Also evil and demented. Dick. I look at the girl for a second. Isn't that much of a threat. I step up. "Name's Hawthorne," I say bluntly. The girl just smiles brightly.

"I'm Rogue."

That's not her real name. Before I can ask what her real name is, Claws decides to interrupt.

"Make sure this kid gets something to eat, will ya, Rogue?" he asks. "I need to talk to Chuck." Rogue nods and motions for me to follow her. Claws catches my arm before I can get too far.

"These are kids. You are not allowed to kill them, got it?" he growls into my ear, like I'm an actual threat. I guess I am. I could slice his throat open right now, or his belly. Watch as all the pretty blood paints the floor. I smirk and pull away.

"You make it sound like I actually need permission."

I ignore his rather outraged expression as I follow the girl called Rogue to a table full of kids. I wonder if he's regretting bringing me here.

* * *

Logan stalks down the hall to the infirmary, his mind reeling. That girl is dangerous. He knew that when he saw her stab that man with the fork last night. He knew when she broke the leg of the other man, when she slammed his face into her knee. He knew when she had used her power and almost stuck her blade in the last man's throat. He saw that light in her eyes; that mean light, that hungry light.

But that had been self-defense. He didn't think much of it then. She was doing what she needed to survive. Who was he to judge? Hell, he was sure he had done much worse than the kid.

But then the light came back. Her eyes went dark when they had walked into the cafeteria. She had stared at the kids, her eyes cold and calculating, like a soldier about to go into battle. He could all but hear the gears turning in her head. Who to take out first, how to manage her power to take all the mutants out if need be.

Yeah, this girl is dangerous. Logan wants to blame it on her need to survive, on old habits or instincts stuck in her locked away past. She can't be that bad of a kid.

But then he remembers something else he saw in those wild eyes when he saw her fight. When he saw her draw blood and break bones.

Glee.

Logan shakes his head. If there's anyone that can help the kid and her psycho habits, it's Charles Xavier.

Here's to hoping she can be saved.

* * *

"So," I start nonchalantly, trying to keep from drooling at the sight of the food in the plate in front of me, "what's the deal with this school? They go around picking up Creeps and giving them a place to hang?"

Rogue exchanges a look with a boy, a kid called Bobby. They sit so close that they almost touch, and every now and then, Bobby'll catch a strand of her white hair and give it a playful tug. They're totally dating. Just not sleeping together. Well, at least we know he isn't in it just so he can get into her pants.

"The Professor set up the school to help mutants like us understand our powers," Bobby answers.

I nod and pick a pepperoni off of the pizza in front of me, giving it a quick sniff before dropping it in my mouth. Thing wasn't messed with. "Uh huh." I look around, notice another kid walking up, and decide to ignore him for now. I look at Rogue. She doesn't seem to like it. Too bad.

"What happens when you touch people?" I ask bluntly. The couple share shocked looks. I roll my eyes. "Please, I'm an amnesiac, not an idiot. You're a teenaged girl, and kinda hot one at that. If I was gay, I'd totally be crushing on you," I say noncommittally. Rogue turns a bright shade of red. "Why aren't you, like, slutting it up?"

Rogue looks down, embarrassed. Ashamed? Whoops.

"When I touch people, I, uh, I absorb their powers and memories," she says softly. I arch an eyebrow.

"That's probably the coolest poison I have ever heard of," I say, trying and failing to hide my impression. She gives a small smile that falters.

"It's not that great," she says. "If I touch them for too long, it can kill them."

Ah, there it is. Bobby looks at his girl longingly. I shrug. "Don't be so sad about it," I say simply. She looks up at me in shock. "The way I see it, you have the best anti-rape weapon ever. Some dude tries to feel you up and it's, like, 'Bitch, I will go high-five Claws and come back and castrate you.'"

They burst out laughing at that. Oh, look; I'm making friends

"As for your lover here," I say, "just think of it as birth control." They go red at that. "You and Claws are close, I saw that," I tell her. "If you went and got your eggo preggo, you realize he'll probably make sure this kid can never have children ever again?" I shrug. "Don't be such a Debbie Downer, dame. Look at the bright side of things, as annoying as that is." I pick off another pepperoni. "I should be one of those pep speakers of whatever they're called." The two exchange looks. "No?"

Bobby laughs. "Probably not the best career choice for you."

I pout a bit at that. Oh, look; someone's trying to be sneaky. I really want to kill them, but then Claws will get all pissy. Oh, the things I do to make people happy.

"Who's the new kid?" I glance up to see a boy grab the empty chair next to mine, turn it around, and sit in it backwards. Aren't you cool.

"Called Hawthorne," I say simply, studying the boy. He had a smug smirk planted on his lips, and a wild light in his eyes. Huh. He'll be fun to mess with. "What're you?"

"I'm a what, am I?" he scoffs. I give him a flat look.

"We're all 'what's," I tell him bluntly. "Some of us are just a little more 'what' than others."

The boy looks at me, his expression just a little confused. I arch an eyebrow at him, and for a split second, I see what I'm going for. Fear. I smirk.

"I think you just made him speechless," Bobby exclaims, laughing.

"Shut up, Iceman," the new boy snaps. Rogue rolls her eyes.

"Don't mind John."

"Pyro!"

I crinkle my nose. "A bon fire?" I glance over at Bobby. "And an ice machine? What a weird friendship," I muse. "Creeps are weird." I look down at my pizza. It doesn't look as appetizing anymore. I crinkle my nose and push it to John-Pyro. "Here; I don't want it."

"Jean isn't going to be too happy about that," Rogue comments. I crinkle my nose.

"I've gone longer without. Ginger can deal." I let out a yawn. "Where's Claws? Or an adult of some form or fashion?"

The trio of kids exchanged looks. "Storm and Scott are up there," Rogue says nodding to Oreo and Shades. I nod once and stand. They look like they're done eating. I glance down at the pizza John-Pyro is now munching on.

"See ya Creeps 'round," I say before adding the nonchalant, "maybe."

Kids watch as I make my way to the teachers' table. Seriously, it's like they try to make the new kids feel awkward and violent. I decide to play nice and ignore them. When I get to where I know Oreo and Shades can hear me, I speak out.

"Hey, Teach, gotta question."

They both look up at me, both somewhat surprised. Whoop-di-doo. Oreo speaks.

"Yes?"

I grab a chair and set it on the opposite side of the table before plopping down. "Right, I'm done eating, what do I do now?"

"You hardly ate anything," Shades exclaims. I crinkle my nose at him.

"It's rude to stare at people when they eat," I snap. He doesn't look happy with my tone. "Also, how the heck can you even see with those shades on?" I demand. Before he can go throw a tantrum, Oreo speaks up.

"Hawthorne, you really should eat more. Even if it is a little."

"Chsh, I'm fine." She arches an eyebrow. "Really. A-Okay. I'll steal an apple or something if I get hungry later. Right now," I say through a yawn, "I really want a couch I can crash on, because there is no way in hell I'm staying in the nurse's office." I shudder. "Hate those places."

Shades frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but Oreo puts her hand on his arm. It's light, barely touching. Huh. Not fucking then.

"It has come to my attention that our introduction last night was cut short," she says simply. I give an eye roll.

"Passing out tends to do that," I say, agreeing. "But it's all good, because you're Oreo and he's Shades," I add brightly. She looks at me in a bit of shock. Then a small smile breaks out before she starts laughing. Shades looks at her in annoyed surprise.

"In all my years, no one has ever called me that," she explains once she's calmed down enough to talk.

"Seriously? But you're all… Oreo."

She shook her head, her eyes still bright, before waving her hand dismissively. "Very well then. Come along, I'll show you to your room." She looks back at Shades. "You'll keep an eye out, right, Scott?"

"Scott" just grumbles an affirmative and we two Creeps start on our way out of the cafeteria. Oreo glances down at me, a frown etched into her expression.

"You really should have eaten more," she says absentmindedly. I crinkle my nose, and she changes the subject. "Tomorrow morning you will need to wake up early, so I suppose it's best you rest now."

"Wake early?" I whine. "Why?"

"You'll be taking placement tests. To see where we should put you for your classes."

I pause to stare at her. "I actually have to go to classes? Like, school?"

Oreo gives an amused smile. "Naturally. This_ is_ a school."

I look up for a second before hurrying after her. The hell did I get myself into?

* * *

**MWAHAHA! I really liked writing evil!Hawthorne, if you count that as evil. Or would it be wicked!Hawthorne? Either way, it was fun, so expect more. And, as always, apologies for any mistakes, screwed up characters, things of that nature. Until next time!**


	5. Lobotomies and Unapologetic Canadians

**Howdy. New chapter. I'm doing pretty good with this whole once every two weeks thing, aren't I? Pretty proud of myself. **

**Watch, I just jinxed myself.**

* * *

"That was absolutely pointless." Oreo looks down at me, a mildly amused look etched into her features. "I mean, do I really have to take classes while I'm here? How long am I even stuck here?"

Oreo frowns at that. "You being here is completely up to you, Hawthorne. You can leave whenever you want." She pauses. "But seeing as you are obviously underage, that would be irresponsible on our part."

I crinkle my nose. "I don't need a babysitter," I huff. "I took care of myself perfectly fine before now."

"Right. Hangin' out in dirty bars is takin' care of yourself."

I look back to see Claws walking out of a room, a smirk planted on his lips. I glare at him. "You're one to talk," I snap. He crosses his arms.

"I'm an adult. I can go to bars and drink all I want."

"Remind me again, how did you get hired here?"

"That's enough, you two," Oreo says sternly, her eyes hard. I crinkly my nose in annoyance and Claws just looks away. Oreo sighs before looking down at her watch. "I have a class starting in ten minutes." She looks at us before shaking her head. "I'm going to regret this, but Logan, show her the way to the Professor's office, will you?"

Claws lets out a low growl. Oreo raises an eyebrow at him.

"Don't take that tone with me, Logan." Her voice is firm, like a sister chastising her annoying brother. Right then. Not fucking him either.

"Yeah, _Logan_," I say with a grin. He shoots a look at me and I just smirk back at him. "Oreo here doesn't play."

"Oreo?" He looks down at the woman in surprise, but she's already walking down the hall.

"Behave. Both of you."

"Yeah, Claws, behave," I grin as Oreo disappears around the corner. Claws glares down at me.

"She meant you too, Boots," he growls before shaking his head. "Come on then, brat," he mutters, starting off down the hall. I crinkle my nose but follow. We walk in silence. I'm too busy checking out how much expensive crap is in here and Claws is just a jerk that doesn't offer any conversation. I don't see how people like him. Maybe they just tolerate him because if not he'll go Freddy Krueger on them.

Kids stare as they walk by, hurrying to get to their classes on time. I crinkle my nose; keep my hands clenched tight into fists. Hard to make anything when you can't grab it.

But if I did have to pick something to make and kill everyone with, I'd go with a scythe. Maybe grab a black cloak somewhere along the way.

Now I'm just being mean.

I glance down at Claws' hands. There aren't even scabs where his knives come out. He must catch me staring.

"What?"

"Nothing," I mutter, tearing my eyes away from his hands. I look up at him. "Actually, can I ask you something?"

"You'd ask even if I said no," he mutters. I roll my eyes.

"Why aren't your hands all gross by now?" I ask. "I mean, they're still pretty beat up, but, like, why aren't they in shreds?"

He looks down at me for a second. "I heal up pretty quick, kid." I arch an eyebrow at him.

"That's why you aren't all scarred up like me?"

"Yeah." We continue in silence. For about ten seconds.

"Does it hurt?"

"You ask a lot of questions," he grumbles.

"Don't blame me, I'm missing my memory. I have to ask questions," I tell him, "Besides, maybe something you say will trigger a flash back or some shit like that, solving my little problem. You'd be like Batman, world's greatest detective." I grin up at him. He just shakes his head.

"Fine. Yeah. It hurts. Every time."

"Then why do you keep doing it? Are you emo?" He glares down at me. I hold my hands up in defense. "Just trying to make conversation, damn. Calm yourself, Claws."

He huffs as manly as a huff can be without being whiney. It's pretty impressive. "Conversation? Fine. Why are you goin' to Chuck's office?"

I crinkle my nose. "I said conversation, not interrogation." I shrug. "X is gonna try to see what's up with my brain's road block. Try to find a way around it." I pause before smiling. "Ah, Cosmo Jarvis."

Claws looks down at me. "What?"

"It's a singer guy. He has a song called "Road Closed." It's good," I assure him. He just rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, kid." I look up at him and he gives a sideways glance my way before giving a smirk. I crinkle my nose at him, but don't bother with any insults.

* * *

Professor Xavier gives a small smile at the banter on the other side of his door. It would seem that Hawthorne and Logan are getting along nicely, despite the latter's suspicion from last night. There's a light knock before the door is opened.

"Chuck?"

"Dude, you can't just walk in! That's rude!" Hawthorne snaps from behind Logan. The feral shoots the girl a look. Xavier just chuckles.

"Come in, please."

Hawthorne pushes past Logan and walks in. She looks around, ignoring Logan's glare as he follows. "Schway," she says simply before plopping down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "So, uh, how're we doing this lobotomy?"

Xavier gives a small frown at that word. "Hawthorne—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "Let's just get my memories back so I can be normal again, yeah?" She looks at Xavier, her expression guarded. He just nods.

"Logan, if you wouldn't mind, could you stay?"

"Stay? For what?" he demands. Xavier gives a reassuring smile.

"Just a precaution, that's all."

Logan grunts. "Fine. Was gonna set the Danger room up for the next class, but it can wait."

Hawthorne frowns. "Danger Room?"

Logan grins as he shuts the door and takes his post against the wall. "You'll see soon enough. Have a feelin' you're gonna love it, too." Hawthorne looks to Xavier in confusion. He just sighs.

"Let's get stared, shall we?"

* * *

_Shadows dance across the room, like demons trying to stay away from the soft blue light of the lone little lamp on the nightstand next to an empty crib. There's a quote on the pale wall above the crib. Something about the future._

_Two people are in the room. Both female. Dark apathetic eyes stare into wide tearful blue eyes. Neither of them move. Just stare at each other, one daring the other to move, and one praying the other wouldn't. _

"_I'm sorry." The voice is monotone and holds almost no remorse. "Now make your choice."_

* * *

"Holy hell, my head is going fucking to explode," I mutter, putting my face in my hands.

"Boots!" Claws growls a warning. I give him a flat look.

"Oh, yeah, like you never cuss, hypocrite," I snap, only to freeze at the look X is giving me. I duck my head in embarrassment. "Er, sorry," I mumble, rubbing my forehead. X just nods.

"Did you see it, Hawthorne?" he asks lightly, not pressing. I frown at him, confused.

"See it…" Oh. "Oh, yeah, I saw it. It isn't pretty."

"See what?" Claws demands. I crinkle my nose at him.

"The wall, you tard. I saw the wall." I shake my head. X looks at me, his eyes soft, comforting.

"Can you tell me what it looked like?"

"Chsh." I look to the bookshelf by his desk. "Looked like they have fucking King Kong back there. Couldn't even touch it." I make a face before tapping the side of my head. "I have something… mean in stuck in here, Professor," I tell him. "And I don't know if I want it out." I throw myself back into the chair. "Shit, I'm pretty sure you won't want it out, not with all these kids here." I shake my head. "This sucks."

"Hawthorne." I look up to see X giving me a small smile. "If you really don't want to see what's past the wall, we won't pursue it. But if you don't want to give up yet, I will help you. It's your choice, and yours alone."

I stare at him for a second. His eyes are clear, thoughtful. Honest. Is this what people mean when they say window to the soul? Balls. No wonder no one can beat me in staring contests.

"Man, what's with you people and helping everyone?" I demand. X chuckles lightly. I let out a huff. "I dunno." I look around. "I dunno. I just… I dunno." I rub my face.

"Take your time. No one is rushing you," X assures. I nod.

"Right."

"Well, that will be all for today. You took your placement tests this morning, correct?" he asks. I nod once, making a face. He gives a small smile at that. "Very good. We will have those sorted out this weekend. Your first classes start Monday."

I give a flat look. "Woo."

"Come on, Boots," Claws calls over his shoulder as he starts for the door. I jump up and start to follow him. I pause and glance back X.

"You really aren't freaked out about all this?" I ask. X laughs. It's a nice laugh.

"I run a school for mutant children," he says lightly. "This is tame compared to most days."

"That does little to reassure me about my decision to stay here," I mutter. Claws rolls his eyes and holds the door open for me, following me out and closing the door behind him. I look up at him. "What now?"

He glances down at me. "You're goin' to eat."

"And if I were to tell you that I'm not hungry?"

"I call bullshit on that," he grumbles. "Storm told me how you barely ate yesterday, and Jean was complainin' 'bout you skippin' breakfast." He stops short and I run into him.

"Dude! Seriously!" He glares down at me with hard eyes. I step back to give him space. He looks like he can use it, being all angry and whatnot. "You people seriously need to chill out. I'm fine. I'm breathing, aren't I?"

"For how long?"

I stare at him in shock for a second, catch how something flashes in his eyes. Not angry this time. The hell was that? I look away. "Chsh. Skipping a meal won't kill me."

"You're too small," he growls before stating off again. I stick my tongue out at his back before following.

"I am not!"

"It ain't healthy."

"Smoking isn't healthy either, but I can still smell the cigars on you," I snap. He glances down at me as I go on. "Hypocrite."

"Healing factor. Can't get cancer."

"Second hand smoke can kill the students."

"Don't smoke around the students."

I glare at his back. Imagine a slow torturous death, just for him. Something bloody. Blood is pretty. Then again killing him might be kinda hard, if he really does heal like he says. Torture is still an option.

"Don't you have a class to teach, Mr. Logan?" I demand, then make a face. "Gawd, that even feels weird saying. Mr. Logan." I stick my tongue out to get rid of the funny taste. Claws shakes his head.

"Class cancelled," he says gruffly. "Someone has to babysit you."

Death by fire. Nothing like melting eyes and boiling blood to make someone out for revenge to feel better. Or we can always go the Prometheus route…

I have problems.

I shake my head. "Have I mentioned that I hate you lately?"

"Acknowledged. The feelin's mutual."

"Big words there, Mountain Man. Don't hurt yourself," I say with a grin. Claws growls something about a damn smartass brat.

I think he likes me.

* * *

When Jean walked into the kitchen for a bottle of water, she didn't know what she expected. Definitely not this. She really wished she had her camera with her.

Logan standing by the counter, all tense and rigid, claws extended. His eyes are dark with rage and the veins in his neck are bulging. Usually seeing the feral like that would send anyone with common sense running.

Except this time he's covered in flower.

Hawthorne, who's sitting at the table with a half eaten piece of toast in front of her—she's eating, good—is leaning over the table, shaking and not making any noise. But before Jean can worry, the girl throws her head back and gasps for air before howling in laughter.

"I… I… I can't…" the girl gasps between attacks. "Breath… Can't breathe!" She clutches her sides and continues to laugh uncontrollably, tears gathering in her eyes. "That… That was… Hilarious!"

Logan, in all his fury, just glares at the girl before his claws slowly slide back into his hands. Jean, still in a bit of shock, blinks once before bursting out laughing with Hawthorne, who's now on the floor, struggling to breathe through her laughter.

The door opens again and someone walks in.

"Hey, have you seen—" Scott stops short, looks around once, and his face starts to crack. One glare from Logan has him rethinking that though. He clears his throat. "Having some trouble, Logan?" he asks, his straight face breaking into a grin.

Logan clenches his jaw. "Just you wait, girly," he growls, low and mean, to Hawthorne. "Just you wait."

"Worth it!" Hawthorne giggles. She takes a breath, composing herself, only to break down again when she looks at him. Jean, finally able to calm down, takes a step toward the Canadian.

"Logan, why don't you, um…" she trails off, fighting off a new wave of laughter. He takes a breath, no doubt trying to calm himself before he kills Hawthorne, before stalking to the door.

"Sleep with one eye open, Boots," he growls. The girl just raises a hand, giving him a thumbs-up as he leaves the room. Jean sighs and looks around at the mess. Hawthorne takes a breath before giggling one last time.

"Please tell me you got that on camera," she says, standing and brushing herself off. Scott looks to Jean, who shakes her head sadly. Then she grins.

"But you know, the Professor isn't the only one with telepathy."

Hawthorne grins wickedly. "You are officially my favorite person here."

* * *

**That was fun. Wasn't that fun? Leave a review. Those are cool. Therefore making you cool. Apologies for mistakes, yada yada yada. **

** ^ ^  
**** (O,O)**

**That's supposed to be a cat. Or a weird looking owl. Either one is fine. **


	6. Ginger Hath No Soul

**See, I told you I'd jinx myself. Kinda late. Whoops. Been working on an original nonfanfic story I've been blocked with when I started this one. **

**Trivia(?) of the day: Hawthorne is based on the MC from that story. Personality wise and whatnot. **

**Anywho's, this isn't my favorite chapter ever. It kinda sucks. Kinda really sucks. Think of it as a filler and hopefully the next one will be better.**

* * *

Not having any responsibilities yet is great. Gives me plenty of time to hide in the room I was given and sort through what little I have. I'm currently roommate-less, but I've been told that won't last long. Yay.

The room is empty enough. Big as all balls though. Two of everything. Dressers, twin sized beds, desks. There's only one closet though, but it's pretty huge for a closet. Easily fits two people's clothes.

Place needs some posters or something. Too white. I'll see to it as soon as I get a chance to get out of here.

I grab my bag from off the ground and drop it on my bed. It isn't anything too fancy. Just a black backpack. A big backpack. Unzipping it, I dump its contents onto the bed. Right then. Lets see here.

"Clean, crap, clean, clean, crap, dirty, clea—" A knock at the door makes me stop my sorting. I look up to see the door open a bit. A fiery haired head pokes in.

"Hawthorne?"

"The one and only," I deadpan. Ginger gives a small frown before walking in. She has something in her hands. I eye it for a second before looking up at her. "What's up, Doc?" I ask with a grin. If only I had a carrot. She laughs at that.

"I brought you the clothes you were wearing when you got here," she says simply, holding them out for me to see. "We had them washed."

I crinkle my nose, but take them. I dump them in the clean pile, pausing only to grab my blue beanie and slipping it on over my hair. "Thanks," I say. She doesn't leave though. She looks down at my stuff before sitting on the other bed.

"This is all you have with you?" she asks hesitantly. I nod once.

"It was in my bag when I woke," I tell her, going back to my sorting. Almost done now. One of my shirts, a green long sleeve that was really comfortably, has a long tear along the bottom. "Chsh, stupid thing," I mutter, throwing it into the slowly growing crap pile. Clothes that are too screwed to save. Ginger frowns, opens her mouth to say something. She closes it, then starts again.

"Hawthorne, can you tell me about when you woke?" she asks. I look up at her, brow pulled down in confusion. Why's it matter to her? "If you don't mind," she adds quickly. I shrug.

"It's not really that great of a fairy tale," I tell her simply. "Woke right outside Burlingame, Kansas. Small town. Tiny. I don't even think there were more than 1000 people there." I look down at my clothes, picking at yet another crapped shirt. "I woke up outside. Grassy field. Didn't remember how I got there. Chsh, didn't remember anything."

I put my hands on my hips to glare at my clothes. Have more in the crap pile than the other two combined. Ginger speaks.

"But you knew your name."

I nod. "Yeah, I knew that. My name is Hawthorne. Like the Father of American Literature." I crinkle my nose. "_The Scarlett Letter_ is such a blah story though," I say. Ginger smiles. "Anywho, I was walking ever since. Getting rides and sleeping where I could. I didn't sleep much though. Especially when I got rides." I glance up at her. She seems to know what I'm going at. "People on the open road aren't as nice as they are here, if you catch my drift."

She nods once. "But you went with Logan." She paused. "He really is a great man, but he can look a little scary," she says with a small laugh. I crack a grin.

"Claws didn't have that creeper vibe. Er," I rub the tip of my nose with my thumb. "Don't tell him I said this, but he really didn't belong there with those Neanderthals." Ginger nods. "And he has such _old _eyes. Like, what the hell? A lot of you have them, but his… his are the worst."

"Logan…"Ginger trails off. "From what Professor Xavier managed to salvage from his memory, Logan is quite a bit older than us." My eyes snap up to her.

"He's like me?" I ask quietly. "No memory?"

"For the most part. It was still a while before he came to us, but he didn't have his full memory." She pauses. "Maybe it's something you should talk to him yourself about, though." I nod once.

Huh. Claws is missing his past too.

Ginger looks down at my pile of clothes and her nose crinkles. "This isn't going to work," she mumbles. "These are no good, right?" she asks, bringing up her hand. The crap pile floats up. I nod.

"Right."

The clothes float to a bagged trashcan and are dropped in. Ginger looks down at the clothes I have left. It's not a lot. She crosses her arms. "This is not going to work at all." She glances down at where my boots are hidden under the bed. "And those are the only shoes you have?"

"What's wrong with my boots?" I demand, maybe a little more defensive than necessary. Screw it; my boots are awesome! There's no need for her to diss them. Ginger shakes her head.

"Nothing's wrong with them—aside from needing a little cleaning—, it's just that you're going to need a pair of regular shoes," she explains.

"They are regular shoes," I snap.

"You can't even wear shorts with them," she says simply. I give her a blank stare for a second.

"I have to wear shorts?"

"Oh, sweetie, I pray we got you in time," she sighs, bringing a hand up to her forehead. She looks down at me, a sort of sly smile I really don't like planted on her lips. "Tomorrow, you're getting new clothes."

"New clothes? The balls, what for?" I demand, but she's already heading out the door.

"Be up in time for breakfast," she calls over her shoulder. "Because Lord help me, if you skip one more meal…" she lets the threat hang in the air. I stare at her in disbelief as the door shuts behind her. The balls just happened?!

Ginger be evil, yo.

Right. Never going gangsta ever again.

* * *

I've decided that I do not like my generation.

Next to me, Oreo and Ginger don't seem to notice the crowds of teenagers and young couples and old couples and just people in general as we walk through the building. They don't seem to notice the carts lining the middle or the people with thickly accented voices calling out to us to buy something. They don't seem to notice how one girl just broke up with her boyfriend or how a little kid in a store we just passed is throwing a tantrum because he didn't get the Superman videogame. And they clearly don't notice the people staring.

My hands clench into fists before releasing so I can fix my beanie. "People are staring at me," I mutter. Ginger looks down at me, then around. She looks like she's just now realizing we aren't the only ones in the God forsaken mall.

"Maybe it's because you look like you're about to go to war?" she offers lightly. I glare at her before glancing down at my own outfit. Plain blue t-shirt, black cargo pants tucked into my boots.

"You never know when you need easy mobility," I say matter of factly. The two women just exchange looks I don't even want to try to understand. Oreo looks around once before nodding to a store. Forever 12 or something.

"Let's see if we can find you anything there," she offers, leading the way. I crinkle my nose as we get closer. The floor in the store is sparkly, and the music is too… bleh for my tastes. I wonder if I can just go hide in the bathroom or something.

"Don't even think about running," Ginger warns, grabbing my arm and dragging me after her. She stops next to Oreo, who is raiding a clearance rack. I grab a shirt and pull it off the rack. Holding it out, I make a face.

"Where's the rest of it?" I deadpan, noting how it looked cut in half, and the back was ripped. "You want me to wear these?"

"That is a bit revealing for the school," Oreo muses, taking the shirt from me and putting it back.

"Yah think? And in case you've forgotten or they just haven't told you, I don't exactly have the 'beach bod' or whatever. Nobody wants to see my scars," I tell her. Both women visibly tense at that. Ginger takes a breath.

"Let's check over here then," she says, leading us to another section of the store, one where the clothes are actually clothes. I crinkle my nose at the mannequins.

"Talk about unrealistic advertising," I mutter, eyeing the thing's giraffe neck and pencil arms.

"This is cute," Oreo says, holding up a coral pink top. She holds it up to me and I give her a dead look. "No?" She sighs and puts it back.

"You're as bad a Scott when it comes to shopping," Ginger says tiredly. "You're a girl! You're supposed to enjoy this!"

"I don't."

We left that store with only one bag. A small bag. Undergarments. Bras and the like. I had money, but they didn't let me pay.

Creeps are weird.

We hit the Navy store next.

"You need some jeans," Oreo says, pulling me to the girls' section. "And shorts."

"Why?!" I cry out, throwing my head back. They ignore me. Ginger looks at me for a second before grabbing three of the same pant.

"Go try these one and tell us what size fits best," she orders, pushing them into my hands and marching me in the direction of the dressing room. I make a face but do as she says.

In the dressing room, I automatically toss out the biggest pair. Just by looking at them I can tell they won't fit. The second is a bit too baggy. I start to take it off, only to pause and stare at the mirror. I frown at my hips. Should those bones be showing like that? I poke at one. It feels bruised.

Damn. I need to start eating.

The last pair is the best one. They don't fit perfect, are just a wee bit to big, but if I'm going to start eating, I need some gaining room. Wouldn't Ginger be so proud?

I give her the pair that fit the best. She takes it and Oreo looks over at the size before going off to the shorts. Ginger checks the size before looking for more pairs. She glances down at me.

"Go find yourself some shirts and we'll leave."

"Oh, thank you baby Jesus," I sigh in relief. She shoots me a look, but it turns into a small smile as I walk off to go look for some shirts. It doesn't take me long before I find something that catches my eye.

Ginger looks down at me in surprise when I come back with several shirts in my arms. "Found things you liked?" she asks as Oreo come back with her own prize. I nod once.

"Yes. Yes I have," I say simply, setting the shirts down for her to see. "Batman. Batman tank top. Ninja Turtles. Rorschach from _The Watchmen__._ Flash. Oo, look," I say, holding up a grey shirt. "I found one for Captain America! It's his shield!" I grin as I show them. They exchange looks and Oreo looks about ready to start laughing. "What?"

"You're a fangirl?"

"Please. Capsicle deserves some respect," I tell them, starting to fold the shirts I had. "The guy was frozen in ice for, like, ever. And he didn't even turn pruney or, like, dissolve. You know that's why they can't have people be frozen just yet? Their cells expand when they freeze and then they, like, explode, so when you open the fridge to thaw them out, they just, like, melt or something. I'm not sure on details—"

I look up to see the Creeps look down at me in surprise.

"What?" I demand. Ginger purses her lips together.

"How do you know that?"

"No idea. I have a lot of little random crap like that stowed away in here," I tell her, pointing to my head. "Most of it is useless crap. Like how to kill someone with a spoon and whatnot." I glance up at them with a wicked grin. Oreo gives me stern look and I don't even bother telling her it's the truth.

They'd take away my spoon for breakfast and it's kinda tricky eating cereal without it.

* * *

**See, told you. Crap. Here's to hoping the next won't be crap. Drop a review. Let me know what kind of shenanigans you want to see Hawthorne get into before or as the plot thickens! Apologies for mistakes and the like.**

**Stay Schway, brochachos.**

**Ahem. Also: how the balls do you work a tumblr?**


	7. Bet Shakespeare Never Had To Diet

**Howdy! As you can see, I'm still alive, and still within my two week limit. I think. I'm going to blame my almost lateness on band. Had band camp this week. Kinda. Three days. But I got sunburned. That wasn't fun. But now I'm all dark. I'm rambling, I apologize.**

**Also: You guys! I love you guys. Your reviews are awesome. They make me all happy inside. I'll try to make sure I keep putting stuff on here worthy of your awesome reviews. **

**Anywho, I'm pretty sure this one is at least a little longer than the last one. Maybe just like, fifty or a hundred words. I dunno. Too lazy to actually see. Let's just say it is longer. And not just this huge A/N, but the actual story. Also, as an I'm-Sorry-I'm-Almost-Late-With-This-Chapter present, the majority of this chap is Logan-Hawthorne interaction. The beginning is kinda iffy, but after that, I had a lot of fun writing it. So if the characters seem a bit OOC, sorry, but not really, because it was fun. I know. I'm a horrible writer.**

**...**

**What are you doing? Start reading already.**

* * *

Ororo Munroe is not worried. Nope. Not at all.

Okay, that's a lie. She's about to tear her hair out in frustration. She glances around the bookstore, hoping to catch sight of a dark haired girl with a scarred cheek. Jean had wanted to check to see if it had the latest book in a series she's reading, and Hawthorne had decided to wander off. After both women had told her not to. Ororo takes a breath to keep from doing something embarrassing.

Honestly, how do you lose someone in a _bookstore_? Of all places. At least the mall would have made a bit more sense. But no. A bookstore!

"Hey, Oreo."

Ororo whirls around so fast she's surprised she didn't give herself whiplash. Standing there is one mutant girl called Hawthorne, complete with scarred cheek.

"Where have you been?" Ororo demands. "I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes!" The girl arches an eyebrow before holding up a cup and bringing a straw to her lips. Ororo stares at the Frappuccino for a second before bringing her hand to her face.

"Jean is not going to be happy," she mutters.

"Wanna drink?' Hawthorne offers, holding the cup out. The Weather Goddess looks down at the girl before giving a small smile.

"No, thank you." Hawthorne shrugs before drinking more.

"Your loss. These things are amazing." She pauses. "When are we getting out of here? I'm bored."

"Once we find Jean."

Hawthorne crinkles her nose. "Last I saw, she was looking at the old books. Like Shakespeare and that crap." She shakes her head. "Shakespeare's stupid."

"Why do you say that?" Ororo asks the girl as they start in the direction of the classic literature. The girl gives her a flat look before clearing her throat.

"'To be or not to be,'" Hawthorne starts. "'That is the question.'"

The girl rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Seriously, if you're gonna kill yourself, just do it already. I don't want to sit around listening to you whine all the time."

Ororo doesn't say anything. Just makes a mental note to talk to the Professor when she has a chance.

* * *

Logan does not hide. It isn't how he works. He might go work on his truck without letting anyone know where he is, but that doesn't mean he's hiding. So the kids are getting on his nerves, asking about what that brat Boots did to him with the flower. And that traitor Jean showing everyone with her freaky mind powers isn't helping. He needs his alone time. He deserves his alone time.

The mutant is (hiding) in the garage, doing a touch up on his truck. The old thing has been feeling a bit sluggish ever since he picked up Boots.

"Damn brat," he mutters, wiping his hands clean on a dirty towel. It doesn't really help. Even though he's pretty sure the kid didn't do anything, it doesn't stop him from blaming her. He made a mental note the night before to keep away from that girl. She's Trouble, capital T. He didn't trust her. Not until she gets her memory back. Not until he figures out why she has such wild eyes.

Call him a hypocrite. He doesn't give a damn.

And no. He isn't throwing a tantrum.

Soft footsteps fall on the driveway outside and Logan lets out a low growl without looking up. No one else would have heard the footsteps, but no one else had his sensitive hearing. And no one else would have caught the scent of the intruder like he did. One of the perks of being feral.

Everyone in the school had their own brand of scent. Jean is sweet. Storm has a bit of spice to her. Everyone has a natural scent to them. Not this one. This one smells artificial. He didn't really notice it at first. There is some naturalness to it, but then he picked something else up. Almost like a chemical. It stings his nose and makes him want to sneeze.

The footsteps stop right at the open garage door and he could hear how the person shifts a bit nervously. He almost feels bad.

Keyword: Almost.

"Go away," he says gruffly without even looking up. There's a scoff.

"You can't seriously still be mad at me, Claws," Hawthorne says flatly. "It's called a prank. Get a sense of humor, will you?" Logan let out a growl. The girl doesn't seem to notice, seeing as to how she walks into the garage. "Whatcha doing?"

"What part of 'Go away' do ya not understand?" he growls.

"The part where you didn't ask nicely. Manners are key to all relationships," the girl says simply, unfazed by how rude the feral is being. "Again, whatcha doing?"

"And here I thought people knew when they ain't wanted," Logan mutters, not answering the girl. Boots is quiet for just a split second. It's a split second too long.

"Gawd, what the fuck crawled up your ass and died?" she snaps, and to Logan's—inconvenient—shock, he hears a genuinely hurt tone in her voice. He sighs. Damn. Now he has to apologize or Storm will shoot him with lightning faster than he can heal. That or Jean will throw him in the middle of a freeway. He looks up and turns around. And freezes.

Hawthorne stands in front of him, her chin raised slightly with pride. She wears a Batman tank top, and Logan's eyes fall on her shoulders, and the skin just below her neck. And his stomach twists.

Sure, he saw some of her scars when Jean showed both him and Storm, but the picture was a little fuzzy. He saw when she showed Chuck the slash on her side, and that one pissed him off too. And the uncomfortably familiar claw marks on her arm are always visible when she wears short sleeves. But it isn't the scars that are making him react.

It's the bones.

They poke out, looking like they could rip through the pale skin that's stretched over them. Her shoulders are sharp, and her collarbones look like they'll break if they're so much as poked. It doesn't help that she has her hands on her hips, making the bones stick out even more.

Damn.

He looks at her for another second before turning back to his truck and closing the hood.

"Get in the truck."

"You get in the—wait, what?" Logan glances back at Boots and gives an amused smirk at her confused expression.

"Get in the truck," he repeats, going to the key rack and grabbing his keys.

"Why?" she asks suspiciously. "You aren't going to murder me, are you? Because I'm pretty sure I can take you," she says haughtily. Logan rolls his eyes.

"Jus' get in, Boots. We're goin' to the store."

"But I already went shopping!" Boots exclaims, throwing her head back. Despite her annoyance, she starts for the passenger side of the truck. "Where do you think I got these clothes?"

Logan looks at the girl as she gets in the truck. She is wearing new clothes. And a new, clean pair of bright blue high top converse.

"Jean?" he asks. Boots nods.

"Ginger's psycho! She says I can't wear my boots all the time anymore." She smirks. "So I got these." She holds up her foot to Logan's face and he pushes it away.

"Damn brat." She grins.

"So you aren't mad at me anymore?"

"Oh, I'm still mad. I jus' don't feel like killin' ya yet." He starts the truck right as he hears an amused voice in his head.

_Logan, where are you going?_

Logan lets out a growl, too low for Boots to catch it. Chuck knows where he's going, he just wants to hear Logan say—er, think—it.

_Takin' the brat to the store,_ he grumbles. Chuck must approve, because he doesn't say anything else. Logan glances down at Hawthorne as he puts the truck in drive.

"Seatbelt, Boots," he warns.

"You aren't wearing one," she challenges. Logan huffs in annoyance.

"I can't die."

"Are you saying you'll try to kill me with your psycho driving?" she demands. Logan glares at her as he pulls out to the drive way and starts what he feels will be a very long drive to the store.

"Jus' put on your damn seatbelt," he grumbles.

"You put on yours and then we'll see about mine," she says smugly. Logan fights the urge to slam his head against the wheel before he puts on his seatbelt. Boots smirks before putting on her own. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Logan mutters incoherently about demon brats before sighing tiredly.

Call him a hypocrite. He doesn't give a damn.

* * *

"Why are we here?" I ask, not even bothering to hide the whine in my voice. Claws just shakes his head before dropping a small bag of potatoes into the cart he's forcing me to push around. If he's going to make me go grocery shopping with him, the jerk can at least push his own cart. "Doesn't who ever cook the food at the school usually do this crap?" I demand. "And why did you make me come along? I know I annoy you. Why subject yourself to this?"

"Will ya shut up for five seconds?" he snaps. I stick my tongue out at him, crinkling my nose at the same time. He grabs the end of the cart and starts pulling it after him as he head to a different section of the store. Despite it being kinda late—like, seven last I checked—the place is pretty busy. I grab the handle and follow so I'm not left behind. I'd rather not give him the satisfaction of being able to tell the whole school that I got lost at a grocery store.

"But why?! I bet you never make little Miss Dixie Chick come with you, and you actually like her!"

Claws takes a breath, no doubt to keep from killing me in public, as he drops a couple ears of corn into a bag, ties it off and drops it in the basket.

"I'm puttin' ya on a diet," he says gruffly. I stop short to glare at him.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"NO!" He shoots me a look. "You're too damn skinny! It's unhealthy," he snaps. I narrow my eyes at him. I'm so killing him in his sleep later. "And if Jean isn't going to enforce it like she's supposed to, then I will."

I stare at him for a second, then down at the stuff in cart. "If you want to get me fat, shouldn't you be piling in junk food?"

"No. There's a right way and a wrong way to do this. I plan on usin' the right way. What ya need is protein. And starchy veggies." He nods to the potatoes. I crinkle my nose at them. "And no watery fruit." He grabs a bag of apples and sets them in the basket. I look at the big box of watermelons longingly. He must notice. "Gain some weight, then we'll talk," he says before pulling the cart away.

"You are an evil man."

"Says the girl that threatens to kill everyone she sees."

"They deserve it."

We stop in front of the meat section. I frown as he starts looking through the steaks.

"Claws?"

"What?"

"You aren't gonna make me eat all this, are you?" I ask as he adds something he obviously approves of into the cart. He glances back at me with a smirk.

"Not all at once, brat," he says. "Let's go get some eggs for your breakfast."

"I don't like eggs! Can't I just get some Cheerios?" I ask. "Oh! Or some Coco Pebbles! I love those!"

"No."

"Do you even have a soul?"

He laughs. He actually laughs, not just a chuckle. It's a deep sound, low and throaty. It's nice.

"Do you?" he counters.

"If I say yes, do I get Coco Pebbles?" I ask hopefully. He shakes his head and I fight the urge to bash my head into the closest wall. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you? You're gonna fatten me up to where I can't run and when I try, I'll have heart attack and you're just gonna sit around and watch and laugh," I accuse him darkly. "Because you have no soul."

"Are ya done?" he asks tiredly.

"Yeah, I think so," I say lamely. Before Claws can say anything, a rather generic ringing goes off. It comes from his pocket. He sighs, fishing the phone out, and gives a small curse when he reads the caller ID.

"Damn," he mutters before flipping the phone open. "Yeah? … Yeah, I'm at the store… Yeah, she's here… Jean—I know—Yes, I got some of those… and that. Jean, I know…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and looks like he wants to run himself through with his own claws. I can't help but grin. Way to go psycho Ginger. "Jean! I know what I'm doin'! This ain't my first rodeo."

"This ain't my first rodeo?" I repeat before doubling over in laughter. "Hey!" I snap when Claws swats me upside the head. I have a feeling it wasn't nearly as hard as he could have actually hit. He shoots me a glare before turning his attention back to the phone. I roll my eyes before looking around. This place is boring. I rest my head against the handle of the cart and ignore Claws's argument with Ginger. Wonder what they're fighting about.

"Ya alright?" Claws asks after about a minute. I look up at him and give a less than enthusiastic thumbs up. He doesn't have the phone out anymore.

"Peachy. Can we just get out of here already?"

"Couple more things, kid."

My head falls back on the handle. Balls. Totally gonna leave a mark.

"Have I said I hate you today?"

"Not today," Claws says, his voice laced with amusement. "I was actually startin' to get worried."

"Well I fucking hate you." I pick my head up just in time to see Claws smirk.

Freaking jerk.

* * *

**Man. Banter is so fun to write. Once you get started it just kinda goes off on its own. Oh, and if you see, like, little mistakes-or big ones-feel free to point them out so I can go back and fix them. I looked over it, but who knows, I could have missed stuff. **

**Stay cool, guys. Drop a review. **

**Homework for this week: Listen to at least one Woe, Is Me song. I think I fell in love with them. If you aren't into screamo, FameDemise [acoustic] by them is pretty freaking amazing. Look it up.**


	8. Problems With Math and Minds

**I know, I know. I'm late. My two weeks have passed. I suck. But, you're not allowed to be mad at me. Okay, you can, but I'd rather you weren't. You see, I just celebrated my birthday with weekend. As a present, every one should review and tell me how awesome I am. Lie if you have to. **

**Well here you go. Don't kill me. I had some trouble with this one, so yeah. I'm gonna blame my lateness on that. Also, there are these wonderful little things called Crossovers. Man, I don't even know, I love crossovers. Do you like crossovers?**

* * *

"You know, you aren't that bad of a cook, old man," Hawthorne says simply, finishing off her bacon. Logan lets out a low growl. The girl crinkles her nose up at him. "That was a compliment, sheesh. And you are old. Ginger and Oreo told me when we went shopping yesterday."

"And why would they tell ya that?" he demands. She shrugs nonchalantly.

"Females talk. You can get them to talk about anything, long as you give the conversation a little push." She pauses before looking up at him with a wicked little grin. "Wolverine. So, do I get a cool codename too?"

"No." His answer is blunt and hard.

"Ah, come on, everyone else has one!" She exclaims. "Storm, Cyclops, Pyro, Iceman, Rogue. Because there is no way in hell that's her real name."

"Not gonna happen, Boots, so stop askin'." He ignores her glare. "Besides, you're too small to do any fighting without getting hurt."

Her jaw drops. "I'm sorry, but did you forget how we met?"

"And ya almost got shot."

"You distracted me. Wouldn't have happened if I was alone."

"I distracted you?"

"Yes. Civilians cause all sorts of problems," she says matter of factly.

"Civilians?" Logan frowns at her choice of words. She doesn't seem to notice, seeing as to how she takes a bite of her toast and washes it down with a drink of milk. Civilians. That's the kind of word a soldier would use.

"Yes. Rule One: Take out what's needs to be taken out, but do not harm the civilians." Hawthorne stops short, a blank look coating her face, her dark eyes seeming to go dull. Logan frowns as she opens and closes her mouth, but no words come out.

"Boots, ya alright?"

Her next words are soft and uncertain. "Doing so will result in severe punishment." She rubs her wrists absentmindedly. Logan can only stare at her before something flashes in her eyes and she shakes her head. She looks up at Logan. "What?"

"What was that?" he demanded.

"What was what?" she counters, confusion lacing her expression.

"That whole no hurtin' civilians, severe punishment shit," Logan snaps. Hawthorne stares at him blankly.

"Dude, what're you talking about?" she demands before shaking her head and pushing away her plate. "Anyway, I'm done, and Ginger and Shades wanted to see me, so can I go now?"

Logan looks down at her, watching her face for any signs that she's faking not knowing what he's talking about. There's nothing. Either she's a pro actress, which he has a feeling she is, or she's serious. The Canadian is torn between the two.

"Dude, stop staring." She narrowed her eyes at him accusingly. "I'm going now," she states, turning the stool away from the island she sits at and hops down.

Logan lets out a frustrated growl before waving her off. "You have a session with Chuck later, don't forget."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she says simply. "See ya, Claws."

Logan shakes his head. He's definitely going to have to talk to Chuck about this.

* * *

"Right, so, what're we here for?" I ask nonchalantly, leaning back in my chair and balancing it on the back two feet. Across the table are Ginger and Shades, both with disapproving looks coated on their expression. We're in on of the class rooms, and judging by the posters, it's some sort of math class.

My chair slams back down. Ginger raises a brow at me and I crinkle my nose at her before crossing my arms.

"We want to talk about your results from your placement tests," Shades says simply. I frown at that.

"What about them? I didn't fail, did I? I know I'm not a genius, but come on."

"No, no, nothing like that," Ginger says in a rush, holding her hands up. She looks over at Shades and takes a breath. "Hawthorne, do you remember anything about your educational experience?"

I just look at her for a second, somewhat confused by what she means. "Like, school?" She nods. I pout a bit as I think for a second. All I get is that great big ugly wall keeping everything hidden. "Not a clue. I know stuff; I just don't know how I know said stuff. It gets pretty fuc—"

"Language!" they both snap in unison. I hold my hands up in defense.

"Shit, tear a kid's head off, why don't you." They both give me hard looks. Well, I can't really see Shades's eyes, but his jaw is clenched. "Right. Sorry. I'll keep the cussing off until I'm with Claws." It doesn't do much, but they relax a bit with the compromise. "So, school crap?"

Shades nods and picks a couple of sheets of paper from the table. "We got your scores back this morning and you did exceptionally well with all of the subjects. Your scores are amazing," he states. I do a fist pump.

"Boom! Check it, I'm awesome! Do I get, like, candy now or something?"

"With the exclusion of math," Ginger says simply.

I cock my head to the side and frown. "I'm sorry, run that by me again?" Ginger sighs.

"Your scores for almost every subject are phenomenal, proving advanced understanding to the subjects." She nods to Shades and he sets the papers in front of me. There's a bunch of charts with numbers and bar graphs and other nonsensical things I don't care about. "This test is based on the ACT, and if you took out the math subject, you could easily get into any school of your choosing."

"Right, I'm not going to school. What's the problem with my math stuff?" I demand. They frown at my declaration, but decide to humor me. Shades speaks.

"Well, of the five subjects, math was your lowest scoring."

"Because math sucks," I say hotly. "Like, seriously, what the hell, numbers are confusing enough." The two Creeps exchange looks at my mini-rant. "Like what, Satan one day declared: And let there be letters in math, just to fuck with the minds of people all through the course of history."

Ginger stares at me for a second, studying. I don't like being studied. Finally, she speaks. "Hawthorne, have you always had a problem with numbers?"

I crinkle my nose and look away. "Not so much a problem as numbers are a bunch of dicks." I peek up at the adults. They're giving me a look. I sigh and throw my hands up. "Okay, so I get numbers mixed up sometimes, not like it's gonna kill me. I just won't ever do anything that needs math."

"Everything needs math, despite what you may think," Shades says simply. I narrow my eyes at him.

"I'll… I'll carry a calculator around…" I say uncertainly. Balls, that won't work. Calculators are confusing. I slump down in my chair. "So what?"

"Well," Ginger starts. "There isn't much we can improve for the other subjects, but you can't just spend the days lounging while the other students are in class, so we will put you in your choice of elective classes." She holds out another paper to me. I look at it for a second before taking it. There's a list of subjects on it. "Pick which ones that interest you and by Tuesday we'll have you in class with everyone else."

"As for math," Shades picks up. "You'll have a remedial math class. It's a small class with other students that have trouble with the subject." I let my shoulders fall as he goes on. "Also, group study sessions."

"Math for dummies. Awesome." I glance down at the slip Ginger gave me. "What's Danger Room?" I ask, looking up at them. Then I grin. "Ooo, is that what Claws teaches? Can I have that? Think of all the crap I can put him through."

Shades grins. "Yes. Yes, you can definitely have that." Ginger glares at him before smacking his arm.

"Scott, don't encourage her!"

"She's going to have to get in there eventually," Shades says defensively. "Just this way, I get to see Logan being annoyed."

I grin. Shades ain't that bad. Ain't that bad at all.

* * *

_He cries. Begs. Blubbers on about promised money. The room is well lit, revealing an expensive desk, a leather-covered chair, a large bookshelf that's nothing more than a waste of space. The study is an overall nice room. Its occupants are another story. _

_Dark eyes narrow in disgust. The sniveling man is back against the bookshelf, the chair and desk acting as the only thing between him and what he knows is Death._

"_You failed to mention your wife's pregnancy." The cold voice cuts through the room, causing the man to flinch back in fear. "I would congratulate you, but considering the circumstances…" His Death trails off, letting the silence do its work. _

_The man shakes his head in sudden outrage. "I never asked for the damn brat. She should have gotten rid of it like I told her too!"_

_Something dark, something terrifying, something _inhuman_ flashes in His Death's eyes. It's quickly replaced with apathy, but the damage is done. The man lets out a whimper._

"_Yes, well, as of," His Death glances up at the clock on the wall, "Three hours ago, the agreement is null and void."_

"_But I—"_

"_Don't whine. It does you no good."_

* * *

"Hawthorne, do you mind telling me what you saw?"

The girl looks up at the man with blank eyes. Professor Xavier is worried for a split second before Hawthorne blinks, shaking her head. Her face is expressionless, impossible to read.

"What I saw?" She crinkles her nose, a quirk Xavier has noticed she does quite often. "I…" She looks down at her hands, tracing one of the smaller scars with a finger. "I didn't see anything."

Her voice quivers just a tiny bit. She's lying; Xavier knows this. She doesn't meet his eyes, instead finding her scars quite interesting. As much as he wants to search her mind for the truth, he had given her his word that he would stay out unless she said otherwise. He is a man of his word, so he resists the temptation. Instead he lets out a tired sigh.

"That's alright." He studies her for a second longer. "Any luck with the wall?"

"Chsh, the thing is impossible," she mutters. "It's like every lock is a Rubix Cube with thirty-six little boxes on each side." Xavier can't help but chuckle at the comparison.

"Understand, Hawthorne, that this may take longer than usual. The wall is very thorough. Whoever put it up knew what they were doing." Hawthorne looks away in obvious annoyance. Xavier thinks for a minute. "Perhaps you should talk to Logan."

"I'm tired of talking to Claws," Hawthorne grumbles. She looks up, her eyes suddenly wide. "You know that tard is making me eat in the kitchen, and he won't let me leave until I finish, even if I'm about to explode!" She crosses her arms and sinks down into chair she's sitting in. "Tard."

Xavier gives a warm smile at her outburst. "He's simply worried about you, is all."

"Well tell him to stop. I can take care of myself." She glares at the floor. "Everyone here seems to think I'm such a fragile little kid that can't do anything, that I need to be taken care of. I'm not and I don't need to be babysat. I'm not a child."

Xavier nods. "Of course. However, you must understand where they all come from."

"Doesn't mean I like it," the girl mutters.

"Perhaps…" the Professor trails off in his thoughts. Hawthorne looks up at him, something like suspicion lacing her features. "Hawthorne, have you been to the Danger Room yet?" Xavier asks suddenly. The girl shakes her head. The man nods. "Of course. Well, I believe it's time to set up a time for you," he says simply. "To test your strengths," he adds. "When has Jean set you to begin your classes?"

"Er, she said she was gonna try to get me in on Tuesday."

"Very good. I will speak with the others about you presenting your powers tomorrow."

Hawthorne looks at him for a second before a large grin splits across her face.

"Cool."

Xavier smiles before waving his hands at her in a shooing manner. "Well, that will be all for today. It's time for lunch, and I feel Logan will be most displeased if you fail to show."

And at that Hawthorne lets out a frustrated groan and drops her face in her hands. Xavier couldn't help but give a small laugh.

* * *

**Looky there, another flashback. **

**Thinking about AU-ifying this sucker, but probably not for another chapter or so. ****Also: Good news everybody! I finally have the main main conflict figured out! Woo! **

**All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Leave a review! Get virtual birthday cake! If I could give you real cake, I would, but I feel like it would have to be a big cake. So use your imaginations. **

**Stay cool, _mis amigos_.**


	9. Ohio Is For Mutants

**Howdy! Got another chapter for you guys! Because you guys are awesome. Seriously. For only 8 chapters—9 now, but this one doesn't count—and it has over 50 reviews! And all you guys that favorite and follow, you rock. I'm in an appreciative mood. You guys are awesome. Keep that up. **

**Okay, warning I guess. Kinda. I introduced a couple of characters, but in all honesty I think I just butchered them because I have no idea how to write them. Kitty and Jubilee. Also, I guess I'm gonna go ahead with the AU-ifying, but that isn't going to happen just yet. And I want you to know that I did not mean to bash and if it comes out that way, I'm super uber sorry. I just needed an excuse to make Hawthorne a jerk. You'll see. And sorry for not knowing what I'm doing with these two characters.**

**Alrighty, I know this A/N is uber long and probably annoying, but I feel the need to clear something up, even if it is just for me and you don't care. This is taking place at, like the beginning of October where the weather is all janky. One day cold, the next not. So yeah. I just needed to clear that up.**

**And last but not least, to answer DeathmatchDrunkard: Yes, she does know she can shove a metal pole through Wolverine's intestines and he won't die, but it sure as hell won't stop her from trying!**

**And finally! The next chap to **_**Under The Water**_**!**

* * *

This room is too plain. Too white. I think I may have mentioned this already. I don't care. I'm mentioning it again. I grab my bag off the floor and drop it on the bed I claimed. The bag is nearly empty now, since Ginger and Oreo made me put the clothes I have in the dresser. Well, Ginger tried to put some shirts up in the closet, but it looked so empty it kinda weirded me out. If it were up to me, I'd just have it all in my bag. Makes moving easy.

Opening one of the many hidden inside pockets of the bag, I pull out three small cases. Thin and more squared than rectangle. I set them down on the bed and push the bag onto the floor. It falls with a faint thump.

"Eenie Meenie Miny Mo," I deadpan before grabbing the case that's titled _Midwesterners_.

One thing I managed to get myself from the little shopping trip with Oreo and Ginger was a little cheapo radio with a CD player. It wasn't much, just a small black and silver device. Probably wouldn't fit in my bag, but it didn't cost too much, so if I end up bailing, I don't have that much of a problem leaving it. I flip it open and set the CD in gently, careful not to scratch it. Making sure the volume isn't at blaring level, I flick the top shut and turn on the device. It makes a slight scratching sound that I'm not all that crazy about before the room is filled with what some would call noise.

I call it music.

The guitars and drums at the beginning aren't that heavy, but they aren't exactly light either. And when the singer starts, there's someone in the background screaming the same lyrics.

I let myself smile before making my way to the bed. I push the CD cases to the side before falling back and closing my eyes. I'm slanted on the bed, my head barely catching the pillow and one of my legs hanging off the edge. The song calms down and the screaming stops.

"So," I say softly to the open room. "Tomorrow I put on a show for the masses."

* * *

"_So. How was it?" _

_The voice is light and cheerful. Dark eyes glance around before finding the source. Young, couldn't be more than eighteen. The boy has a smile planted on his lips and a mischievous gleam in his pale eyes as he lounges on a bare cot._

"_Bloody." The girl steps into the room, checking the shadows before turning her attention to the boy. "What're you doing in my room?"_

"_I can't come by and say hello to my favorite little Creep?" he asks teasingly. The girl gives him a flat look._

"_No."_

* * *

"_**Because you kill me! You know you do, you kill me well!**__"*_

My eyes snap open. Damn. I didn't mean to doze off like that. I take a breath to try and calm my renegade heart. I focus on the music. I've been out for three songs.

There's a soft knock at the door. I'm up before I know what I'm doing, and it takes me a second to realize why my hand feels heavy. I glance down and see how my fingers are curled tightly over a bladed club. Outside my door there's quiet talking.

"Maybe she's out?"

"Where would she go?"

Another knock, this one louder. I uncurl my fingers and the club dissolves before it hits the ground.

"Er, come in?" I call out. The door swings open, revealing three girls. One is Rogue, but the other two I can't put names to. Sure, I've seen them around, but I'm more of the Don't-Talk-To-Me-If-You-Want-To-Live kinda girl. Rogue and Bobby are okay though. I'm still kinda iffy on the FlameThrower.

The Asian chick comes in first. She has her dark hair cropped short, and she wears a pair of pink shades on her head like a headband. Her shirt is pink too, but it's half hidden by a yellow jacket coat thing. I arch a brow at her as she looks around the room.

"You are in desperate need of a room makeover," she states knowingly. I just look at her for a second.

"Yeah. I'll let you know when I get started," I deadpan. She nods.

"Good. You'll need me." The girl, she can't be much older than me, flops onto the other bed. I crinkle my nose at her before turning my attention to the other two girls. They're more modest in coming in. The one I don't now looks to be the same age as Rogue. Brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. I've seen this one hanging around that huge Russian guy.

"What's up?" I ask, making my way to my bed, putting my CDs in my bag. The girl I don't know sits with Pink & Yellow on the other bed and Rogue come to sit by me after shutting my door. Good on her. I hate when the door is left open.

"Um, I thought you'd like to meet a couple friends," the Dixie Chick answers almost hesitantly. Pink & Yellow pops her bubble gum and the other girl waves. I look at them for a second, pulling my legs up to cross them.

"Hi."

"I'm Kitty," the one that waved greets. "And this is Jubilee."

"Oh, yeah, I can tell she's just full of joy," I say flatly. I'm ignored. I try again. "So, what're your poisons?" I ask. They look at me like I'm crazy. "Er, powers?"

"Oh! Why didn't you say?" Pink & Yellow—Jubilee—exclaims. She holds up a hand and then: PAFF! Sparks fly. Colorful things, bright and cheery.

"Look at you. Bet they never have to pay anything for the Fourth of July, huh?" I grin. She doesn't take it as an insult, and I really don't care either way. I look at the other girl expectantly. She gives a smile.

And punches Pink & Yellow right in the gut.

The fuck.

Her hand is IN Pink & Yellow. Like, straight through. Pink & Yellow scowls.

"Kitty, why do you have to do that?" she snaps as Kitty pulls out.

"You just…" I punch forward with my hand. "And she… Holy fuck, that's a cool poison," I manage. Kitty laughs.

"Yeah. I call it Phasing. I can go through anything. Scared me half to death when it first happened though."

The other girls nod in understanding. I crinkle my nose. Pink & Yellow must notice. "What about you?" she demands. "Hey, what's your name anyway?"

"Jubilee!" Rogue chides before burying her face in her hands for a second.

"I'm just asking. You aren't all that great at introductions, after all," Pink & Yellow retorts. I arch a brow.

"I'm Hawthorne," I answer. Her expecting look doesn't go away. "I don't remember the first time I used my powers." She frowns.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Head's screwed up. I can't remember anything past two months ago. When I woke, I just knew what I could do, and how to do it." I shrug. Pink & Yellow opens her mouth, most likely to demand that I show my poison. I don't give her the chance to ask. I hold up my hand and a small green ball forms. I toss it to the other bed and Kitty catches it.

"You make balls?" Pink & Yellow deadpans. I give her a flat look. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Rogue's worried expression. I smirk. Something flashes in Pink & Yellow's eyes. It makes me feel all happy inside. I turn my hand palm up and let the green particles take form. It's small, a little smaller than my hand. Once it's done, I hold it up for the girls to see. The dagger isn't that impressive, but it's sharp. Maybe too sharp. I put the tip on my middle finger and a small bead of blood escapes. I look up to see shocked faces when I clap my hands together, destroying the blade.

"I make a lot more than a couple balls," I say simply. They all nod. The ball in Kitty's hands dissolves; green shimmering in the air.

"That's cool," she breathes. Rogue nods in agreement. I shrug.

"It's alright."

"Hey, you're going into the Danger Room tomorrow, right?" Pink & Yellow demands suddenly. I nod once. She laughs aloud. "Good luck." I frown at her tone.

"It's not that bad," Kitty starts. She doesn't sound too convinced.

"Do you know if you're going up against a student or teacher, or maybe the room?" Rogue asks.

"Er, X didn't tell me anything," I admit. "Just that I'm going in." I look at them. "What is the Danger Room?"

They exchange looks. Pink & Yellow takes over the explanation. "It's this room, right? And it's huge! And all metal. And it comes alive and tries to kill you."

"So the room is a Decepticon. Awesome."

"I'm sure they won't go that hard on you," Rogue says, trying to reassure me. I actually think she's saying it more for herself though.

"Hey, I'd rather take the Room than Mr. Logan," Kitty pipes up. "Or Miss Munroe."

"Claws? Please, guy couldn't even touch me," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. "I'm a master ninja, didn't you hear?" I pause. "What if I'm a master ninja?"

Rogue laughs. "I wouldn't get your hope too high." She pauses and looks around. "What're we listening too?"

"Hawthorne Heights," I answer automatically. They give me funny looks. "Er, they were in my bag when I woke the first time." They don't say anything else about it. We sit in comfortable silence. And then Pink & Yellow goes and ruins it.

"Hey." I look up at her. "I heard you have, like, a crazy scar or something. Can we see it?"

"Jubilee!" both Rogue and Kitty exclaim. I stare at Jubilee for a second. She doesn't look ashamed in the least bit. She actually looks kinda proud. Arrogant.

"I'm just asking! Nothing wrong with that!" she snaps back. I narrow my eyes at her, just a bit. I don't think she catches it. "If she doesn't want to show, then she doesn't have to!"

I sit there for a second before uncrossing my legs and standing. "It's fine. I don't mind." Pink & Yellow throws a smug look at her friends. I walk to the end of the beds and stand between them. Out of habit, I pull the sleeve of my sweater down over my hands. The room had been cold earlier, so I put it on. It was something I got from the shopping trip. Rogue must notice.

"You don't have to, Hawthorne," she says hurriedly. I shake my head. She's the only one of them that's seen the ones on my arms. That's all she's seen. I look at Pink & Yellow directly in the eye as I pull off the sweater. Amazingly, the shirt under stays down.

The room grows tense. They see my wrists. They see my hands. They see the claw marks on my arm. But still, Jubilee doesn't look ashamed of her blunt attitude. Let's see if I can change that.

Call me a hypocrite. I don't give a damn.

I pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor in one fluid motion. I have a bra on, so it's not like I'm naked. I look at the girl, notice how they get pale, notice how they can't look away. Notice how the pride falls from Pink & Yellow's features.

Oh looky there. Looks like she's about to cry.

"So," I drawl, turning around so they can see the ones on my back. "Which one where you talking about?"

* * *

Annoyed is too weak an emotion to describe what Logan is feeling. Pissed off works better, but in all honesty, he's borderline furious. The door to the kitchen opens and in walks the reason for his anger, looking half dead. It catches him off guard, and for a second, his pissed off-ness sinks to just plain annoyance.

Hawthorne shuffles over to the island where she had been having her meals and plops down on the stool with the grace of a zombie. Logan catches the dark circles under her eyes. He catches how her tone is paler than usual. He catches how her eyes seem to dart every which way, as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows. Her hair is in a messy bun, strands falling in her face.

She looks so small, and for a second Logan worried that she's falling back into what she was when he first found her.

The girl folds her arms on the island and drops her head in them. Logan arches an eyebrow at this.

"What, no smart ass comment today?" he grumbles, going back to the stove to make sure the eggs didn't burn or catch fire.

"Fuck off," is the muffled response. It didn't hold the heat as her usual snaps. Logan feels conflicted for a second. Should he get mad at her like he had planned, or ask what's wrong?

"Alright, what's wrong with ya?" he demands, dropping her plate of food in front of her. She picks her head up to look at it for a second before pushing the plate away. It doesn't go unnoticed by Logan how she goes just a bit green at the sight.

"Not hungry," she mutters.

"Tough. You're gonna eat."

"I'm sick," she states bluntly. "I can't eat. I'll puke."

Logan lets out a frustrated growl. Hawthorne looks up at him and clenches her jaw before sitting straight and grabbing the plate and pulling it to her. Logan smirks triumphantly.

"What's really wrong with ya?" Hawthorne looks up at him, her eyes dark and calculating. Logan can practically see the gears turning in her head, sorting out the pros and cons of telling the truth.

"I couldn't sleep," she states.

"What, nervous 'bout the Danger Room?" Logan taunts. Hawthorne shoots him a cold glare.

"Fuck off. It's not that." She pauses. "I just had a dream and it was bugging me," she says softly.

Logan is taken back by how… human the girl sounds. How like a kid. He glances down at her, her small frame dwarfed in that large sweater she wears. Her eyes tired and, if Logan didn't know any better, scared. He clears his throat, looking away.

"Well, it was just a dream, Boots. Stop cryin' about it," he says gruffly. Hawthorne glares at him, but doesn't say anything. He tries again. "If it bugs ya so much, why don'tcha talk to Chuck?"

Hawthorne scoffs. "Is that the answer to everything here? Talk to X? I'm pretty sure he has more important things to do than listen to some kid talk about a dream about some guy." Logan freezes when he hears that. Hawthorne must notice. "Not like that, you perv!" she snaps, her face twisting with disgust.

"Then how?" he snaps. "And don't call me a perv, brat."

"You thought it!"

"You implied!"

"Gawd, you're such a child!" Hawthorne exclaims, throwing her hands up. Logan levels her with a glare and she sends one right back. Neither backs down. They stay like that for a second before Hawthorne speaks, never dropping her gaze. "If you must know, Dr. Phil, he was dying. Someone stabbed him. Blood everywhere." Her eyes go dark with pain. Logan's glare disappears. "And the idiot just smiled and said it was okay."

"Oh." Logan can't think of anything else to say. Hawthorne crinkles her nose and picks at her food.

"Yeah, oh. Like, seriously, what kind of tard would be okay with dying? I'm not okay with it. Are you okay with it?" She pauses for a second. "Don't answer that. You can't die." She shrugs and glances up at him. "But you're probably right. It's just a dream. Best to stop crying over it."

Logan is silent for a second. The hell has this kid been through that she dreams about people dying? He glances down at her and catches sight of her scarred hands.

And then he's mad.

"You showed 'em your scars," he growled. Hawthorne looks up at him in shock before a smug look gleams in her eyes as she smirks.

"They asked. Well, Pink & Yellow asked. I didn't want to be rude."

"You didn't have to show them your scars, Hawthorne!"

It felt weird, saying her real name instead of calling her Boots.

The gleam is replaced with something dangerous. "I can show my scars to whoever I damn well want, _Logan_," she shoots back. Logan growls. Hawthorne has her hands clenched into fists.

"You made Jubilee cry. And Kitty has been quiet since last night. And she never shuts up!" Something akin to fatherly love and protectiveness flashes in Logan's eyes. "And don't even get me started with Rogue."

Something flashes in Hawthorne's eyes. Hurt? It's gone before Logan can pin point it.

"Well boo-fucking-hoo," Hawthorne growls, slamming her hands on the counter, taking Logan by surprise. The fury in her eyes dances like a fire. Logan has seen eyes like that. They aren't something you want to stick around for. "They must have it so bad, having to see something so disgusting as me and my scars. They must be so fucking terrified. Well tough," she spits out. "Because last I checked, they weren't the ones that got shot four times. They aren't the ones that were burned, or stabbed, or broken and bruised." Logan can only stare.

"I'm not stupid, you dick. I know what my scars are. I know that someone must have really hated me to give them to me. Either that or I'm the biggest fuck up in human history. I know that I shouldn't be alive." She holds up her hand and points to her wrist. "You don't think I know what this is from? You don't think I know why my thumb is all jacked up? I know, you asshole. "You're mad at me for scaring a couple girls? No, you're mad because I showed them that the world out there hates us and will kill us any chance it gets and it doesn't care if you're a kid or a girl or whatever."

Hawthorne looks deathly calm. "And you know what else? You're the most bipolar son of a bitch I have ever met!" she explodes. "One minute we're buds and the next you treat me like crap! The hell! I didn't do anything to you! I'm sorry for being an incontinence and scaring your favorite little students." She jumps up and gives him a hard glare. "Fuck you, Claws," she snaps.

And then she stalks out, slamming the door full force behind her. Logan could only stare at the door, his jaw on the floor. He looks down and sees how the plate of food is still full. He lets out a tired breath and leans on the counter, running a hand through his hair before rubbing his neck.

"Way to fuck that up, Wolverine," he mutters to himself.

* * *

***Ohio Is For Lovers by Hawthorne Heights. Don't own the song. Well, I have it on my iPod. Does that count?**

**Well then. Who expected that? I didn't. I really meant to throw Hawthorne in the Danger Room this chapter but then I started and it kinda got away from me. But I like this. I know it isn't really humor based like everything else, but you know, it's good to have a healthy dose of angst in a story every now and then, huh?**

**Okay, legit question. If Logan were to, say, jump in a pool, would he just, like, sink? Like, with his metalness. I know, it's probably a stupid question, but forrealz tho.**

**Right then, mistakes are mine. Apologies for it sucking. REVIEW! **


	10. The Dangerous Decepticon Room

**I did this thing. It's not a very long thing, and it probably isn't that awesome, but I wanted to get it out of the way. So look! New chapter! **

* * *

The air is tense and thick. Heavy and hard to breathe in. Up above in the shielded stands, half the student body of the school sits fidgeting and shifting uncomfortably. The other half is excited. Most have heard of the new girl, the one that Logan brought back with him. The one that was said to be covered in scars. They heard that Jubilee, Kitty, and Rogue had seen them, but when the asked, the girls went quiet. That was a shocker.

Down below in the danger part of the Danger Room stand Jean, Storm and Cyclops, wearing their uniforms. The kids aren't sure why they're down there, but they figure it'll be sorted out once the new girl gets there. Up in the control room are Logan and the Professor. The kids feel bad for the new girl. Logan isn't known for going easy on you when he's in charge of the Room.

The door opens. Everyone takes a collective breath as they see a figure walk into the room and stop in front of the three original X-Men. Necks are craned, trying to see the girl, trying to figure her out. Only the first row get's a good view of her. In said front row sits Rogue, Bobby, and John.

Down below, Hawthorne smirks at the looks she's getting from her audience. It doesn't hold the mirth she usually shows, and Storm and Jean exchange worried glances. If Cyclops notices, he doesn't show it.

"What's all this," the girl asks, nodding above to the stands.

"You have fans," Storm deadpans. Hawthorne arches a brow.

"Really? That's new." She does a quick once over of the trio. "Man, you guys are making me feel rather under dressed," she says flatly, gesturing to her own outfit. She wears black pants loose enough to move around easily tucked into her blue boots. Her shirt is a simple green long sleeve. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun.

"Not very protective, that's for sure," Cyke says simply. Hawthorne crinkles her nose at that.

"Don't need protection." She looks at them with narrowed eyes. "And that looks heavy. And hot." She brings up her nails to inspect them. "No, I think I'll stick to what I'm wearing," she says nonchalantly. Jean frowns at that, but says nothing. "So, we gonna get this show on the road or what? After all, my adoring fans are waiting."

Cyke smirks at that. "Logan has the room set up on a low level, so there isn't much to worry about." Hawthorne looks at the trio suspiciously.

"Then why are you here?"

"Low level for Logan is, well, not very low," Jean says simply.

"Oh, yay, now the guy is trying to kill me," Hawthorne says, her voice flat as she continues. "Awesome. So do I just…" She motions to the center of the room. "Go out there?"

"And don't die," Cyke provides lightly. Hawthorne waves her hand dismissively at the comment.

"There are plenty of other things that are worse than death," she says simply, walking out into the middle of the room. The trio exchange looks, but don't say anything. Up above, the students go silent, whispers dying and bets closing off. Hawthorne glances around before she finds the control box window. Her eyes fall on Logan. She gives a dark smirk, watching as he pushes the some buttons.

And then the room comes alive.

Doors open on all sides of the girl, and from the darkness, forms start to walk out. Hawthorne glances around, a bored look on her face as she takes in the sight of the four robots. She makes note of how they're the same size, how they move with jerks.

The first one that shoots is on her side. The attack wouldn't have been fatal by any means, but it would have hurt like hell. Luckily for Hawthorne, it didn't hit. She brings up her hand, and with it a transparent green shield springs up. The shot ricochets and hits another robot. Hawthorne offers a smirk. Not many see it. But the ones that do can't help but feel a chill travel down their spines.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Hawthorne moves with practiced grace as she dodges the mock bullets. She charges at one of the bots, her hands coming up and grasping something as it appeared out of thin air. Again the same transparent green. It's a double-sided katana, but only a few actually see it clearly. By the time she gets to the one bot, the others are already moving towards her. It doesn't faze her in the least.

One side of the blade goes into the neck area of one robot, causing it to freeze in its tracks. Hawthorne pulls the blade out, only for the other side to slide into the chest of a bot behind her. A bot shot at her, and she lets go of the weapon to bring up another shield. In her other hand, something else forms. A small scythe. She drops the shield and throws the scythe at the bot. As it goes, a chain connects it to Hawthorne's hand. The blade embeds itself deep into the bot's shoulder. The girl grips the chain with both hands and pulls. The arm fall off and the weapon disappears in a shimmering green cloud.

She stands straight, taking a breath, closing her eyes for a split second. Behind her, something metallic hits the ground. Dark eyes snap open and the girl drops. One foot, encased in a glassy green, smashes into the knee area of the bot, breaking through the metal. She jumps up as it starts to fall, grabbing the thing's head behind her and launches it out on the ground in front of her. It's only on the ground for a second before the girl has another long blade sticking out of its head. It sparks a couple of times before dying out.

The massacre took a little under a minute to be completed.

The room is silent. No one moves. Hawthorne glances down at the mess she made, and then grabs the hilt of the katana left and rips it out. Some kids gasp as she twirls it once and points it at the glass shielding the stands.

"Are you not entertained?"* Her tone is dark and patronizing. She glances up at the control room. "And here I thought you were going to challenge me."

Hawthorne drops the katana. It dissolves right before it hits the ground, a cloud of green smoke. She starts for the door to leave, glancing at the trio of adults that stare at her in a sort of shock. She narrows her eyes when Jean's shock morphs to alarm. Behind her, Hawthorne can hear the faint pops of sparks. She doesn't think twice.

She whirls around; throwing a small dagger at one of the still standing bots that didn't quite meet its end. It hits the head, which snaps back. The force of the throw sends the bot falling on its back. Hawthorne shakes her head in annoyance. Without another word, she stalks out of the room.

* * *

***I totally stole that from a movie. I do not own said movie. Don't kill me.**

**Danger Room scene! Cool beans! I know, it's, like, WAY shorter than the rest, but what can you do?**

**All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.**

**Warning: Don't expect anything next week. Got band camp. Yay. (Sarcasm)**


	11. Lack of Apology and Abundance of Angst

**As it turns out, I'm a horrible person and accept your hate for the long unintentional hiatus. But I'm back now. **

**Sadly, I now revoke my promise of a chapter every two weeks, because school just started, and marching season started, and yeah. That doesn't mean I won't try to get chapters out to you as fast as I can, it just means you'll probably have to wait longer. Sorry. I know. I suck. I don't deserve your love.**

**I go through reading-writing phases. I'm in the middle of a reading phase, and I just discovered the beauty that is Sterek (Seriously, my OTP of all OTPs.) I'm not even kidding, I have read so many **_**Teen Wolf**_** Sterek fics when I should have been writing; it's making me worry. I have a problem. It's bad. But oh well, I'm back now. I killed my Writer's Block and I'm here to stay.**

**I love you all and please don't kill me.**

* * *

I shuffle into the kitchen, half dead. I don't need a mirror to tell me my hair looks like crap. Strands keep falling from the lazy bun into my face. The sweats Ginger let me borrow are too long and drag on the floor. The sweater is huge, so I'm guessing it wasn't hers to begin with. The collar keeps falling off my shoulder no matter how many times I keep pulling it back up.

I've been cold a lot lately. It kinda worries me because some of the braver kids are still wearing shorts.

Claws is waiting, like he always is, and when I plop down at the counter, he sets a plate of food in front of me. It still smokes. Or steams. Whatever the hell food does when it's hot.

We don't say anything about my outburst from yesterday. He doesn't apologize and I don't demand an apology. Even though I totally should, that asshole. He doesn't mention how I didn't eat almost anything yesterday and I don't mention how looking at the food in front of me makes me want to puke.

Maybe I should, but I don't.

"Hey, Claws," I start, not looking up from the scrambled eggs and potatoes I poke at. He grunts, shows that he's listening. At least he isn't ignoring me like I thought he would. "I was wondering…" I trail off. He glances back at me, expression guarded. I clear my throat. Gawd, since when can I not talk to Claws? "Um, Ginger and X have mentioned…" He arches a brow at that. I glare at my breakfast, as if it's the reason I can't find my words.

"You feeling okay, Boots?" he demands gruffly. Huh. He still cares. Or maybe it's just because he feels the need to be a responsible adult. What a shocker that'd be.

"I'm fine," I snap. The answer is automatic, only a bit harsher than I intended. He stares at me for a second before setting down the pan he was washing. I glance up at him, watch him cross his arms before turning my attention back to my food.

"Alright, what's up?" he demands. "And it mus' be somethin' big if ya gone and lost your voice."

I shoot him a look. I don't know what I expected to see, bit it definitely isn't the concern that's staring back at me. I let out an annoyed huff. I can do this. I am a BAFM and I should be able to start a conversation with this stupid concerned eyed feral jerk.

"They mentioned that, um, that… you'relikeme." It comes out in a quiet rush. Claws frowns. "Er, that you were like me, I guess," I add as an afterthought. He looks confused. Good Gawd, do I have to fucking spell it out for him? I throw my hands up in the air. "Fuck it! They said that you lost your memories too," I snap angrily, my patience wearing thin. He goes tense and for a second I can't help but think I crossed some sort of line. Do they not talk about this stuff around him? Is it a touchy subject or something? I hope not.

I don't like not being able to talk to him.

Finally, after a five years and a day, he speaks. Okay, more like five seconds, but whatever.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." I look at him. His face is expressionless. I crinkle my nose and push my plate away. "Look, I was just wondering, I really don't care either way." It's a lie, and I'm pretty sure he knows. I wonder if he can smell lies, like they do in werewolf movies and books. Or hear them, like with the whole heartbeat thing.

I'll have to ask him later.

He sighs and steps up. He reaches up and pushed the plate back in front of me. "Eat your food, Boots. You didn't eat any yesterday."

I make a face, but start eating anyway. My stomach rolls. I wonder if I turn green.

Hehehe. I'll get you, my pretty. And your little dog too.

…

Where the balls did that come from?

"And yeah." I look up at Claws. He looks thoughtful. "I'm like you." I open my mouth to ask him about it, but he just raises his hand. I glare at him. He just gives a low warning growl. Jerk. "We'll talk 'bout it after your classes."

I drop my head, barely missing the plate. "I don't wanna go to class. Can't I just play sick? I look the part already." Claws just grunts as he goes back to finish the dishes. "Everyone stares at me," I add, picking up my head.

He snorts. The tard. "I wonder why?"

"Obviously they're all jealous of my ninja-like reflexes and kick ass skills," I deadpan. "Also they fear for their lives, which they should," I add with a grin.

"Eat your food, kid."

"And I am now eating my food."

He doesn't say anything, but I'm pretty sure I just saw a smirk.

Stupid Canadian.

* * *

"I see you and Logan are speaking again."

Hawthorne glances up at Professor Xavier; her face flushing red in what he can only guess is embarrassment. He offers her a soft smile. She throws herself back into the chair bringing her hands to her face.

"Gah, it was that obvious he pissed me off? It was, like, one day!"

Xavier chuckles quietly. "Would you like to talk about why you were upset with him?" The girl crinkles her nose and stays quiet for a moment. The Professor takes the time to study her. She doesn't look much better than when she first came in, and this worries him. She's small in the clothes borrowed from Jean and Scott, frail looking. It's almost impossible to believe that this was the girl who destroyed those training bots in the Danger Room. Any color she was regaining in her time at the school has faded, and the darkness under her eyes has returned, only more noticeable.

"Pardon my French, but he was being a bipolar asshole," she says hotly. "And I never really said I forgave him. I'm just tolerating him again. Because he's a dick and I hate him."

Xavier frowns at that and gives the girl a knowing look. "Do you really now?"

Hawthorne's look falters. Her eyes fall to her lap and she starts tracing her scars on her hands. She does that a lot, Xavier notices, when she doesn't want to talk about something, or if it's hard to get out.

Hawthorne lets out a frustrated huff. "Okay, so maybe it's just a strong dislike, but still, it doesn't matter either way. No offense, and I don't want to come off as a, a," she struggles to find the right word for her thoughts. "A user," she decides finally, "but as soon as I find out what the hell happened to me, I'm gone."

"Gone?" The Professor's tone is alarmed. If Hawthorne hears it, she doesn't point it out.

"Gone. Outta here, no longer a student," she elaborates. "There's no point in staying here, I'll just be taking up space. I know how to control my powers. I know how to take care of myself, how to protect myself. There isn't much the big bad world can throw at me that I can't handle, if my body is anything to go by." She pauses to breathe. "I don't belong here anyway."

"Hawthorne…"

"Kids here are scared of me. Rogue and Bobby don't look at me the same way anymore. Claws was pissed that I "showed off" my scars, and now everyone thinks I'm sort of psychopath, and I'm not sure if I can prove them wrong." Her voice shakes a bit. She looks angry with herself. "Do you really want someone here like that?"

"Hawthorne, you will always be welcome here." Xavier's tone is sure and strong, and the girl looks up in surprise. "You are not the first Mutant to come here thinking that, and unfortunately I feel that you will not be the last." He sighs. "That being said, if you do choose to leave, we can't do anything to make you stay. It is your choice, and your choice alone."

Hawthorne didn't look up at that. She stays quiet.

"Would you like to talk about something else now?" he asks softly. Hawthorne nods once.

"Yeah."

Xavier nods, studying the girl. "How are you sleeping? You look rather tired."

Hawthorne scoffs, but Xavier catches how her hands clench into fists. "Tired. You can say that." She crinkles her nose. "I, uh, I have these dreams." Her hands start shaking and she clenches her jaw. "If you call them that."

"Dreams? For how long?"

"I've had them since I woke up the first time, but they've gotten worse after we started this," she says quietly. "And sometimes I can't remember what they are, but when I wake up I just _know_ that they're important, that they can help me understand and it's just so _frustrating_!" She brings up a hand and tugs it through her hair. "It's, like, I'm drowning and I know what I need to know is just above the surface, but I just can't reach it and it's driving me crazy."

Her voice cracks and she takes a breath.

"And then sometimes I do remember them when I wake up, and all they do is drag me down further under the water. And I don't know if I really want to remember anymore."

"And what are these dreams that you remember, if you don't mind me asking?"

Hawthorne takes a breath. "People always get hurt." She lowers her voice and Xavier almost doesn't catch what she says. "And sometimes I'm the one hurting them."

* * *

_She wakes to a soft voice and a hand playing with her hair. She opens her eyes to see a kind face looking down at her. She closes her eyes and just listens. She doesn't recognize the song, but then again, she never understands anything the boy does._

"_Why are you here?" she finally asks. The boy pauses his singing and when she opens her eyes again, he's giving her a confused look._

"_You collapsed in training," he says, and then suddenly he's angry. "Those idiots, how can they make you continue when you've been on the Field for three days?"_

"_It's expected," the girl says simply._

"_It's stupid."_

"_You shouldn't say that." She pauses. "And you shouldn't be here. They won't be happy."_

_He looks down at her, scarred brow raised. "Do you want me to leave?" _

_She looks up at him, and if he catches the panic in her eyes, he doesn't say anything. Instead he offers a soft smile and goes back to playing with her hair. "What was that song?" she asks quietly._

"_I can't remember," is the reply. "Just that it's by a band called Hawthorne Heights."* The girl hums, only to still at the boy's next words. "Do you ever want out of here?"_

"_You should shut up," she says sternly. "They'll get mad. Besides, what would I do out of here by myself?"_

"_You wouldn't be alone. I'd be with you. I can still remember it sometimes. I would take care of you."_

_The girl smirks. "You can barely take care of yourself."_

"_Shut up and listen to my beautiful voice."_

_And she did. Because she had him taking care of her._

* * *

I woke to a damp pillow, a racing heart, a blank mind, and an empty feeling in my gut. The room was still dark, so it had to be way to early to even think about getting up for classes. I wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, which is why I am now standing at the kitchen door, staring at the sliver of light coming from under the door.

Fuck it. Worst thing that can happen is detention.

I push open the door and walk in, ignoring the figure sitting at the table. Instead I head straight for the island and sit at the stool, dropping my head in my arms.

"What're ya doin' down here?"

"Demands the teacher currently destroying a bottle of Jack on a school night," I deadpan, picking up my head and turning to see Claws glaring at me.

"I can't get drunk."

"Yet here you sit trying."

We stare at each other, neither of us admitting to being in the wrong. Something flashes in Claws's eyes for a split second before he closes them and breathes in through his nose.

Holy shit, is he actually scenting out the room?

His eyes snap open and he stares at me for a second.

"You were cryin'."

My hand automatically goes up to my face. It's dry. My mind wanders to my pillow.

"I think I had a dream." I drop my hand. "But I can't remember it."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Enough to make me pissed as all fuck."

Claws lets out a low growl. "Language.

"Hypocrite."

We stay quiet. Claws is the one who breaks the silence.

"When I woke up, there was a bullet at my feet, a dead girl on the ground not far from me, an idiot called Remy hovering over me, and everything in my head gone." I look up at him, realizing that he means when he lost his memories. He reaches up to his neck and pulls out a chain that was hiding under his shirt. He slides it off over his head and tosses it to me. I catch it in one hand, acting on reflex. I inspect it as he speaks again.

"That around my neck."

Dog tags. Old and dull, some of the numbers flattened out beyond recognition by the years. But the name is still clear. Or names. Whatever.

_Logan – Wolverine._

I look up at him. "You were a soldier?"

He nods before taking a swig of the alcohol. "In more than more war." I give him a confused look. "Ya ain't the only one with dreams, Boots," he says. "And I've had Chuck to help. But there's still gaps."

I look back down at the tags, run my thumb against the raised surface.

"Were you scared?" I ask quietly, looking up at him. "When you woke?"

He looks thoughtful. "Not as much as I should have been. But then, I didn't wake alone."

I hold my hand out, the chain balled up in my fist. Claws stands and starts up to me. He holds out his hand for it and I hesitate.

"I did."

I hate how my voice cracks. I drop the chain in his hand. He quickly replaces it around his neck, but doesn't move. I don't look up at him. Can't.

"I woke alone in the middle of a field just outside of a small Kansas town called Burlingame in the middle of the night. There wasn't a moon and the light pollution killed off the stars. And then I saw my scars." I try to laugh, but it comes out choked and panicked. My vision blurs and my throat burns from the lump forming.

"I woke alone knowing I was dangerous and that I could hurt people and that people would hate me." I clench my hands into fists to try and stop them from shaking. They disobey. A hand lands on my shoulder and I look up. I can't see much through the blur of unshed tears. I blink and they fall and I don't even bother to wipe them away. "And then I started having these dreams. I hurt people. And people hurt me. And there was a boy who always smiled and I wondered why he wasn't there when I woke. And then I dreamed and he was dead and I was alone.

"I woke, and I woke alone, and I was terrified."

I choke back a sob and next thing I know, Claws has his arms around me, pulling me to him and holding me tight. I hide my face in his chest and hold onto his shirt like a lifeline. He makes soft comforting noises, promises that everything will be okay, strokes my hair and rocks a bit. I let him.

For the first time since I woke, I let myself cry.

* * *

***Song was Decembers by Hawthorne Heights**

**So there's that angst fest. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please don't hate me. You can, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't.**


End file.
